


Charles Bingley

by sixbeforelunch



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Original Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-07
Updated: 2010-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 69,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixbeforelunch/pseuds/sixbeforelunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or, A History of the Brief Employment of a Young Man and the Consequences Thereof</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted to A Happy Assembly as a WIP. It is essentially unchanged from that posting. (My original plan was to revise the story before posting here, but I have decided to revise it at original fiction instead.) Please note that this story contains references to colonialism, historically accurate but possibly triggering language used to refer to people of non-white descent (in the later chapters), and possible othering of non-white characteristics (also in the later chapters). Rated Teen for some violence and sexual language.

Charles Bingley scaled the steps to Longbourn Manor with an enthusiasm he didn't feel and regarded the house with something like trepidation. In his hand he held two small pieces of paper which had been worn by being constantly put into and removed from his pocket. One contained the direction to Longbourn, the other was a letter from Mr. Edgeworth of Claycombe Park in Durham. His person could only be called rough. He caught a glimpse of himself reflected in one of the windows and hardly recognized himself. His hat was a dreadful thing that drooped on one side. He wore a rough linen shirt that scratched his skin, a leather waistcoat, dark and poorly cut trousers, and a coat of such poor quality he had shuddered to put it on.

At least his wretched appearance matched his state of mind.

With a shake of his head he pulled himself from his reflection and his reflections and rung the bell. The door was answered by a middle-aged woman in a very plain cap and neat dress.

"Yes."

"Mis--er, Charles Bingley, ma'am, here to see Mister Ridgeway."

"To what purpose?"

He cleared his throat. "Employment, ma'am."

"Do you have a letter?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Come with me."

He was led through the front foyer. His first impressions of the house's interior matched his impressions of its exterior. It was a respectable establishment, neither ostentations nor shabby. There were hints of luxury in the furnishings and the textiles, but nothing to suggest very great wealth. Bingley dated the house from the early part of the century, perhaps from just before the ascension of George I.

He was led to a small office in the back of the house and presented to Mr. Ridgeway, the steward of Longbourn. Bingley remembered to take off his hat as he stepped inside and said, "I've come to inquire about a position. I was told at the inn that something might be available here."

Mr. Ridgeway peered at him over a pair of spectacles. "Do you have any letters?"

"I do, sir," Bingley said and handed him Edgeworth's still sealed letter.

Mr. Ridgeway looked it over carefully. "Mr. Edgeworth was very complementary."

"Yes, sir." He ought to have been. This was all his fault. Him and Ashbourne. He wasn't certain which of them he hated more at that moment.

"You are a long way from Durham. May I ask why you've chosen to come here."

"I have family in London, sir."

"Why not seek employment in London then?"

"Because I have family in London, sir," Bingley said with a smile.

Mr. Ridgeway chuckled. "Quite right." He drummed his fingers on his desk. "I gather from this letter that you are used to a grand sort of household. Longbourn I'm afraid is not so grand. The house keeps few menservants, and you'll find no livery here." He cocked his head and looked Bingley over. "You're young, well looking. Five foot ten, are you?"

"Five foot eleven in my stocking feet," Bingley said, uncomfortable with being so blatantly sized up like a side of beef.

Mr. Ridgeway laughed again. "Well, you won't find yourself paid a premium for that here." He drummed his fingers on the desk again, considering. "How do you feel about indoor work? Have you any experience with it?"

"Some."

"The missus, she likes to keep one indoor manservant around. John left us last month to get married and hasn't been replaced. The master objects to the cost, but I know he'll agree if the mistress takes a fancy to you. It is not the work you were told of, but do you have any objections to it?"

"No sir," Bingley said, afraid to say anything different, though he would have preferred to keep out of doors despite the coming winter. It seemed less humiliating somehow.

His next object it seemed was to be briefly introduced to the mistress of the house. Mrs. Bennet was a woman of about four or five and forty. Her face still held the traces of the beauty she must have possessed in her youth, and her figure was good. She looked him over briefly, declared him a "well looking young man, far more stately than the manservant the Lucases had lately employed" and was done with him. And that, it seemed, was that. Never having been engaged in the office of hiring a servant--excepting of course his own vallet--Bingley was rather surprised to find the process as quick as it was.

Mr. Ridgeway had a maid show him to his room. The maid, Matty, was a young girl who looked about fifteen, small and light. Between the moment of Mr. Ridgeway leaving them and their arrival at the door of his room, Matty did not cease talking.

"There's five girls, plus the missus and the master. Mr. Bennet is a good sort, won't trouble you much, but don't be expecting you can cheat him. He knows what goes on, for all that it looks he don't. The missus yells at all hours of the day and night, but mostly for Hill, that's Mrs. Hill to you and me. If the missus is having a bad day, Mrs. Hill is having a bad day, and you and me is having a bad day. You ever worked in a house with six ladies? No, don't suppose you have, or you never would have come to Longbourn. Miss Bennet is a nice sort, and won't ever get you in trouble. I scorched one of her gowns once, broke down crying, sure as I was going to lose my place, but she just sighed and told me nevermind. She must never have told her mama, or I wouldn't never be here anymore. Miss Elizabeth is not so nice, or I don't think she would have hid the gown from her mama in any case, but she don't expect too much. Miss Mary is always in her books and mostly never asks for anything. You must needs to watch out for the youngest two. They always have something or other to be fetched or carried or ironed or washed and they go complaining to their mama if it isn't done just right. The missus is looking to get all the girls married off. Miss Bennet is the prettiest of them all, and I wonder she ain't married yet. If I were half so pretty as her, and with a dowry of a whole thousand pounds (though I understand for folk of her quality that's not so much), I'd have been married years ago. I'm nineteen now, and hoping to be married soon. I've saved eighty two pounds and nine shillings for my dowry on account of I've been working since I was twelve, and mother don't expect me to pay her all of my wages. Miss Elizabeth has a fair chance of catching a man, she's pretty enough, but nothing to her sister, I think, but she's too forward, or I heard John, that's the man we had afore you, say that men don't like a woman so forward as that, and some of the things she says, he's take a wife in hand for saying. Miss Mary is a plain little thing, and never interested in doing anything about it. And the younger two, well, they're just as wild about the men as can be, but Mr. Bennet says they're silly girls, and I heard him wonder that any man would want such a silly wife, though if you want my opinion, he took a very silly wife for himself."

Here they reached a very small, cramped, and cold basement bedroom, which it seemed he was expected to be grateful for as, being the only man servant lodged in the manor house, he did not have to share it with anyone. With effort, Bingley made the appropriate noises of gratitude which seemed to assuage Matty who, she told him, was forced to share with two others up in the attic. A brief question about how many were employed in the house set her off again.

"Well, Mr. Ridgeway is the steward, of course, you met him already. Mrs. Hill is the housekeeper. There's two of us housemaids, Me and Tilly. Rose and Sarah are the junior kitchen maids, and Foster is the cook. Mary is the scullery maid, on account of she's only thirteen and the missus says she don't know how to do anything but scrub pots, but sometimes I shows her the upstairs work. It'd be good for her, if she could get a place upstairs. Mrs. Hill is always cross, and she likes to order us girls about. Don't you take no mind if she don't like you, she never did like John none, on account of his being a man, and she don't think it's good to have a man in a house with so many ladies, but the missus likes to keep a man about, on account of it looks good, and reminds everyone of how high and mighty the Bennets are."

Bingley managed to break in here and ask if the Bennets were well known in the neighborhood.

"Oh, bless me, yes. Longbourn is worth a clear 2,000 a year if it's worth a shilling. There's not many near Meryton who can match that. The Lucases aren't worth half so much, for all that they put on great airs on account of their father being _Sir_ William. The estate won't go to the girls, though, on account of there being an entail, which the missus is always going on about, and how horrible it is for the girls. Oh, but listen to be rattle on and on. Mrs. Hill will scold me something terrible if I don't get back to my work. You settle in, and then you'd best go up to see the master, supposin' he might want to meet you, now that he's going to be paying your wages and all," Matty said, all without seeming to take a breath, and was gone before he could respond, leaving Bingley alone in his small, rather uncomfortable room to contemplate his new position and try to make sense of all Matty had said.


	2. Chapter 2

Bingley allowed himself several long moments of quiet contemplation, but quiet contemplation was not something he was prone to on the best of days, among which this could hardly be counted. With one more uncharitable glance around his small room, he went about his business. His first task was to fetch the last of his things from the inn where he had spent the night. After he returned, Bingley went down to his new room and surveyed his accommodation more thoroughly. There was list carpet on the floor, and a narrow bed made up with only one rough linen sheet to cover the mattress, and a thick wool blanket. A shabby-looking table with a wobbly leg held a taper. It had a small drawer which was found to contain a worn Bible with loose pages. There was but one small window that let in thin light, and old, peeling wallpaper in a pattern that was not attractive and had never been fashionable. Two poorly done paintings, painted on pieces of wood and unframed, hung on the walls. One was a landscape. He frowned at the other for some time, attempting to determine what it was supposed to represent before giving up with a shake of his head.

He opened his portmanteau and surveyed the extent of his worldly possessions. For all intents and purposes, £5 in a leather purse represented the entirety of his fortune and that had already been reduced by his brief stay at the inn. He had brought no clothing but what was on his back and a linen nightshirt. He had brought his shaving kit which he set out on the table. The inlaid wooden box, ivory-handled razor and comb, and silver mirror seemed jarringly out of place and he thought to himself that he should have acquired something simpler before he left London, but it was too late to think of such things now.

There were two books, both plays. He laid Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_, and Goldsmith's _She Stoops to Conquer_ on the table with a sigh. He had not brought his pocket watch, but it was still bright day outside. He reported briefly to Mr. Ridgeway, to say that he had settled in, and was sent to see Mr. Bennet. One of the maids, not Matty, led him to the door of the study. He straightened his hair, a truly lost cause, as even his valet was unable to properly control the unruly mop on his head, and knocked softly. A muffled "come in" beckoned him inside.

Mr. Bennet was a man of nearly fifty, old fashioned in dress and grooming, seated at a large wooden desk. His study seemed to double as a library, or perhaps it was better said that the library doubled as his study, for the room seemed more important as the former than the latter. It was an impressive collection of books, many in Greek and Latin, which greeted his eye as he looked around.

"So," Mr. Bennet said, barely granting him the courtesy of looking up from his book, "you are the new man."

"Yes, sir. M--er, Charles Bingley, sir."

"Charles, yes. And, ah, have you any plans for matrimony, Charles?"

Bingley blinked. "I--not at this time, sir."

"Any plans to join the Navy?"

"Certainly not."

"Good. I have lost the last three men I employed within a month of their being hired, two to matrimony and one to the Navy, and I would prefer to keep you for more than a fortnight, if you please."

"There's little chance of me leaving in the next fortnight, sir."

"Very good." Mr. Bennet finally raised his eyes from his book and looked him over. "Have you no better clothes?" he asked and when Bingley answered in the negative, said, "Well, I shall have Mr. Ridgeway provide you with something a little finer. I'm told you're used to outdoor work. I'm sure you'll appreciate the chance to be indoors this winter, but a little bit of presentation will do well, I think."

"Yes sir."

Mr. Bennet looked him over again. "You speak very well for one of your rank, Charles. Have you had the benefit of an education?"

"I have."

"Of what kind?"

Bingley thought fast. 'Eton, then Oxford' seemed likely to raise a great deal of questions. "My uncle was a curate, sir. He undertook some of my education."

"Do you read, then?"

"I do."

"Very good. A man who has books, and the capacity to enjoy them, is never friendless. There is a small servant's library near the kitchen. I daresay it is very rarely used, but I encourage you to avail yourself of it."

"Thank you."

"You speak very well indeed," Mr. Bennet said, narrowing his eyes slightly and Bingley forced himself not to shift.

"Thank you, sir. I have...I try to...present myself well."

He could very nearly see Mr. Bennet give the matter a moment's further contemplation, then dismiss it utterly and return to his book. It seemed the mystery of his new servant's speech could not hold its ground against the lure of Plato in Greek. He waited a moment longer and then Mr. Bennet glanced at him again, slightly exasperated. "Yes, well, that will be all, Charles, you may go."

Bingley thanked him again and gratefully made his escape, wondering if he was about to be betrayed by his own tongue. Deep in that thought, he did not see the young lady until he had nearly bumped into her.

"A thousand--that is, I beg your pardon, ma--miss--er," he stammered, his flustered speech a sad attempt to change his way of speaking. He looked at her, embarrassed, and found that he had nearly bumped into an astonishingly pretty woman. Habit taking the place of thought, he straightened, and then bowed politely, cutting a good figure despite his shabby clothing.

"Quite alright," she murmured kindly, distractedly picking at a stray thread on her gown, and strode past him without another word or indeed seeming to notice him at all. Bingley stared after her, oddly captivated by her movements, until she disappeared through one of the doors.

"She's a pretty one, ain't she?" Matty said, appearing at his elbow.

"Was that Miss Bennet?"

"Sure it was her," Matty said. "It's a wonder she ain't married, though Meryton don't provide much in the way of her sort of husband, I suppose. Mrs. Bennet wouldn't let her settle for less than a thousand a year is my guess, though she'd take five hundred for any of the others, for all that she talks of them having lords and sirs someday. Come along. I'm to take you to Mrs. Hill, but I'll show you the other girls afore we go to see her."

She led him to a small drawing room. The door was half open and he could see a rather plain girl seated at the piano forte. Her playing, while technically very good, lacked spirit and he found himself bored with even the brief performance.

"That's Miss Mary. And behind her, Miss Elizabeth."

He saw, seated near the window with a book, a pretty young lady, not as handsome as the eldest Miss Bennet, somewhat smaller and of darker complexion.

Matty gestured for him to follow her and led him to another small sitting room where he heard rather than saw two young ladies arguing over bonnets or trimmings or some such. Before Matty could say anything, they unexpectedly rushed from the room and bumped into Matty, sending Matty, who was a good deal smaller than either of them, to the floor.

"Watch where you're going, Tilly!" The taller one cried and turned back to her sister as Bingley helped Matty back to her feet. She seemed to neither notice nor care that the young lady could not remember her name.

"I shall tell Mama on you, I shall!" the smaller one shouted.

"Oh, la, Kitty, you act like a child! 'tis only a bonnet."

"It is ruined! Mama! Mama, you must come and talk to Lydia!"

Bingley stepped back out of the way, eager to have no part in their argument. Miss Lydia turned and looked at him. "Who are you?"

"Charles Bingley, ma'am. I was only just hired."

"Do we have a new man? No one told me. You are too handsome to be a servant," she said. Bingley blushed.

"Mama!" Miss Kitty shouted again and Matty tugged at Bingley's sleeve, gesturing for him to follow her. He was grateful to escape the shouting.

He was led finally to the kitchen where the same neatly dressed woman who had answered the door was in conversation with the cook.

"Mrs. Hill," Bingley said, "you asked to see me."

Matty gave him a surprised look, and Mrs. Hill turned to him with a vexed expression and went back to her conversation with the cook. Bingley blinked. He had never in his life been so summarily and rudely dismissed by...well by anyone, but most especially not by a woman such as her. He was forced to wait until the rest of her conversation was over, then she finally turned to him.

"Mrs. Hill, ma'am," Matty said when she saw they had her attention. "This is Charles, Mr. Ridgeway told me to bring him to you."

"Thank you, Matty, you may go," Mrs. Hill said, and Matty disappeared from the room as quickly as she had earlier appeared by him.

Mrs. Hill looked him up and down, an appraisal he was going rather tired of. "Did your mother never teach you any manners?" His mother had died giving birth to him, but it hardly seemed the time to bring it up. "Next time you see that I am in conversation, you will wait until I acknowledge you, then you will speak, is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Bingley said. It was of course only polite. He realized that he was not in the habit of extending such a courtesy to housekeepers and maids. "I apologize."

"Hmm. You have settled in, then? You are ready to work?" she asked and Bingley, surprised that he would be put to work so quickly, only nodded. "Good. Cook has several large pots that need to be scrubbed out that are too heavy for the kitchen maids. You will carry them outside where Mary will scrub them. When you have done that, return to the kitchen, Cook has tasks for you. When Mary is done, you will carry the pots back inside. Do you think you can handle all of that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," Mrs. Hill said, and left him to his work.

*

It was several long hours later before Bingley found another moment to rest. The pots were heavy, and Cook's tasks had mostly involved moving, lifting, fetching, and carrying things that the kitchen maids could not handle alone. His arms ached as though he had spent an hour in the boxing ring. He sat down on a small stool and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"You best not let Mrs. Hill catch you off your feet," Matty said and Bingley jumped. "Are you done with Cook? If you have done with her, Tilly needs furniture moved, so she can clean behind it. Mrs. Hill said you could do it, so me and Tilly wouldn't have to do it together, which is what we do when there's no man about."

A rumble in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since his simple breakfast at the inn, and he asked about meals.

"You missed dinner. That's always served at one. There's a supper around eight, and breakfast is at six thirty."

"Six thirty?"

"Aye. Mrs. Hill would have it at six, but the family sleeps so late, there's no sense in not letting us have the extra half of the hour, for all that Mrs. Hill would keep it from us."

He was led to where Tilly was cleaning, and left to be told what furniture to move and to help clean the higher places, where Tilly, who was even smaller than Matty and far less talkative, could not easily reach.

His next chance to sit came at supper, when he was able to see all of the servants assembled together. Mr. Ridgeway, of course, did not eat with them, and would not have even if he had not lived in a house of his own on the estate with his wife. Neither did Mrs. Hill eat with them, though Bingley had been told by Matty that she took breakfast and sometimes dinner with the servants. The table was then himself, Matty and Tilly, and the junior kitchen maids, laundry maid, and the scullery maid, as well as the coachman, and two stable boys. There was little conversation, even Matty seemed too tired to speak, and though Bingley's upbringing made him uncomfortable with his own silence, his exhaustion and hunger made it hard for him to do anything about it. Indeed, his hunger was so great that he scarcely noticed the poor quality of the food, and had eaten two platefuls before he noticed how stale the bread was, or that the meat had begun to turn.

The meal did not last long, and when it was over they all scattered quickly, having last minute tasks to complete before they would be allowed to bed. As he was leaving, he caught sight of Mary, looking down at her raw, red, cracked hands and then up at the table full of dishes and cups that fell to her lot. While he watched, she buried her head in her hands and wept silently for half a minute, then raised herself up and got to work.

It could not have been much past eleven when he returned to his room, though it felt much later. The narrow bed and ugly wallpaper no longer mattered to him. Barely stopping to take his shoes off, he laid down on the narrow mattress and was asleep almost before his head had touched the pillow.

*

He woke the next morning before the dawn when Mary came in to collect the chamber pot by the door. Every muscle in his body ached, and he had never in his life wanted to move less. He rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head, thinking he would sleep just a few minutes longer, and was soon again dead to the world.

The next time he woke it was to a sharp knock at the door. He stumbled from bed and found Mrs. Hill on the other side of the door.

"I see you have chosen to forgo breakfast this morning," she said without preamble. "That is your choice. The time at which you start work is not. Make yourself presentable and be upstairs in the kitchen in ten minutes, do I make myself clear?" He nodded. "If I ever have to wake you again, you will be dismissed without references, I trust that is also clear."

He assured her it was, and she turned on her heel and left him to shave and put his shoes on with all haste.

Disappointingly but not surprisingly, he was not offered anything to make up for his lost breakfast and was immediately sent to see Mr. Ridgeway who had for him a set of used but presentable clothing that could almost have been said to fit him, but that the coat was too loose around the arms and the trousers too short at the ankles. It was made clear to him that the clothing belonged to Mr. Bennet and that any attempt to make off with it or sell it would be considered theft and punished as such. Bingley managed to catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror and was dismayed with the sight; though it was better than the fourth hand clothing he had changed into shortly after leaving London.

There was no shortage of work and by noon he would have given up every penny of the five pounds he had brought with him in exchange for an hour's uninterrupted sleep and a cup of tea. Still, he was awake and aware enough to pause in his tracks when he heard Mrs. Bennet's voice from one of the sitting rooms exclaim, "My dear Mr. Bennet, have you heard? Netherfield Park is let at last."


	3. Chapter 3

Naturally, it was Matty who gave him the details.

"'Do you not want to know who has taken it?' the missus cried, and the master said, all droll and dry like, 'You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.' So, the missus said, 'Why my dear, you must know, it was taken by a man from the north, a lord, who came down from London yesterday in a chaise and four to see the place and took it immediately. He will take possession by the end of the week.' And the master said, 'And what is his name?' 'Ashbourne, Viscount Ashbourne, the eldest son of the Earl of Buxton.' 'Is he married or single?' Bless me if that's not all anyone cares about. So the missus said, 'Single my dear, to be sure, what a fine thing for the girls.' 'How so?' the master said, 'How can it affect them?' And the missus got all in high dudgeon for of course she was thinking of the great lord marrying one or the other of the girls, for all that she don't know whether he'd as lief not take a wife at all."

Bingley helped her take the heavy rug down from where it hung, strung up between the two trees to be beaten, and said, "A woman like Mrs. Bennet cannot imagine a single man of large fortune who is not in want of a wife."

Matty laughed as they strung up the second rug. "Well, I hear tell from Rose, who heard it from little Sarah Smith, that our great Lord Ashbourne has 25,000 a year. Bless me! It'll be Miss Bennet, to be sure that the missus throws in front of him, for she is the prettiest by far. I think her the prettiest girl in the whole world, and if she can't catch a lord, none of 'em can, for all that she might not want him, once she sees him, for I heard tell from Rose, who heard it from Sarah Smith, that he's not handsome, and has the marks of the smallpox, and is nearly five and thirty, though I suppose a great house in London and fine gowns will make up for an old, pocked husband. To tell true, I would take any husband at all, as long as he could keep victuals on the table, and didn't beat me. What would you do with 25,000 pounds? I would buy myself a pretty white gown, like the Miss Bennets have, and a lace cap, like the missus wears, and I would sit around all day and eat raspberry tarts. Have you ever had a raspberry tart? I had one once, and I thought it tasted like summer in heaven. Well?"

Bingley, who had lost the trail of the conversation somewhere between smallpox and raspberry tarts, and was in any case distracted by the confirmation of the news that Lord Ashbourne was taking up residence at Netherfield, though he had suspected it was him from the moment he had heard the house was let, did not answer until she prompted him again with, "What would you do with 25,000 pounds?"

"Buy a yacht, I suppose," Bingley said, somewhat absently, as he had been thinking lately that he wanted one, and was just prudent enough to desire an increase to his fortune before taking on the expense.

"A yacht? What would you do with a yacht?"

"Race it on the Thames," he said. What else did one do with a yacht?

Matty considered. "Could I go with you?"

Bingley chuckled. "If I find myself in possession of an unexpected 25,000 pounds, I will buy a yacht and you can sit on deck and eat raspberry tarts."

Matty grinned and began beating the rug. "So the missus was in high dudgeon," she said between swings of the beater, "but of course that's nothing new, for the missus is always in high dudgeon about something, but this time it was about the master not going to visit the great Lord Ashbourne, though of course anyone who knows the master at all would know he was only teasing her, but the missus never can tell when the master is teasing her, for all that he does it all the time. And the master said that he would write to Lord Ashbourne and say that he could have any of the girls he wanted, only he was going to give preference to Miss Elizabeth, on account of he likes her the best. And then of course the missus started crying about her nerves, and I left, on account of she always needs to be waited on when she starts crying about her nerves, and I had work to get to.

"But I heard from Tilly, who has it from the groom himself (and you do know that Jeb is sweet on Tilly and is always telling her things afore anyone else) that Mr. Bennet went to visit Lord Ashbourne almost as soon as he came into the house, which was two days ago, and only a day after he looked at the house, which is certainly very fast, and the house wasn't even ready for him, and the master said he thinks it very strange that a man should take possession of a house so fast, for all that the missus says that the rich can be as eccentric as they want, though I'm sure she won't be so forgiving if he don't marry one of her girls." She let the beater fall to the ground and rubbed her shoulder. "Only the master told Jeb that he's not to tell the missus where they went, on account of he wants to tease the missus more. I mean, he didn't tell Jeb he wants to tease the missus, but anyone would know that's what he wants to do, except the missus, who don't know her husband very well at all."

They gathered up the rugs and carried them back inside. Bingley had to help move the furniture so that the rugs could be spread back out. By the time it was all done, it was nearly time for dinner. Bingley sat down at the table gratefully, glad to see that Mrs. Hill had not chosen to join them. He had eaten only three dinners in the house, but he had already had opportunity to see how much less constrained the company was when Mrs. Hill was not present. Now that Matty had told him, he noticed how Jeb maneuvered things so that he could sit by Tilly, though Tilly seemed not to notice him at all. She was more talkative than he'd seen her before, and as he was seated across from her, he found himself the main object of her conversation, a great deal of which seemed to revolve around him. As Bingley would rather have retaken his Latin oral exams than spoken about himself, he turned the conversation back towards her. By the time he had cleaned his plate, he had learned that she was one of two girls, that she had had a brother but he had been pressed into the Navy and they didn't know whether he was alive or dead, that she had only a father living, that she was seventeen, that her favorite color was yellow, and that she loved horses.

Jeb broke in to tell her that he knew the horses in Mr. Bennet's stables better than anyone, and Bingley, grateful for the change of subject, managed to spend the rest of dinner conversing about the horses Mr. Bennet kept, which one was too placid, which had too much spirit, and which had been bought only to show the neighbors that it could be bought.

"Do you ride, Charles?" Tilly asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Bingley answered that he did, and though he tried to inquire of Jeb which horses were the best for riding, the man seemed uninterested in talking further.

The bell rang just after dinner, and as Mrs. Bennet had left orders that he was to get the door if he was about, he found himself opening the door to the Viscount Ashbourne.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, but Bingley's mouth soon turned up slightly as he realized that of the two of them, Ashbourne was suffering the greater mortification.

"Yes, my lord?" Bingley asked, trying not to laugh as Ashbourne shifted from foot to foot.

"I am here to see Mr. Bennet," Ashbourne said. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and offered his card with the other. Bingley beckoned him into the foyer.

Ashbourne was a tall, slim man of two and thirty. Whatever little beauty nature might have gifted him had been lost at the age of three when he had been struck with smallpox. He had a reputation as an eccentric, having little to do with the _ton_ of London and spending most of his time in the country. He was reserved around most, and often stricken nearly dumb in the company of ladies. Among the scant few he admitted as personal friends he could be outgoing, talkative, even lively, but by most he was thought of as excessively reserved at best and priggish at worst.

Bingley carried his card to Mr. Bennet, and then was sent back to lead Ashbourne to the study where Mr. Bennet would receive him.

Bingley led him inside and with a brief glance at Ashbourne, cleared his throat and announced in his most formal voice, "The Right Honorable, Lord Andrew Fitzwilliam, Viscount Ashbourne."

Mr. Bennet glanced at him in surprise, and Ashbourne muttered something under his breath. Bingley knew he had earned himself a lecture from Mrs. Hill about the proper way to announce a lord, but he was quite prepared to accept it in exchange for Ashbourne's wince at the overblown introduction. He managed to make it to the hall and close the door behind him before he laughed.

*

The next morning dawned fair and clear and found him in a mood that might have been called good. It was at the very least a great improvement over the black mood that had dominated him for the last week. Bingley was not accustomed to such dark feelings, and a return to his usual cheerfulness was as inevitable as his circumstances would make it seem unlikely. He rose easily, shaved and dressed with care, and was not the last person to sit down to breakfast. The last several days had found him with a terrible headache that came and went, but today his head seemed clear and though he would have preferred his normal breakfast of coffee, poached eggs, roast beef, and toast, he was able to accept gruel and ale and cold vegetables with equanimity if not enthusiasm.

He had adapted more quickly than expected to the earlier hours when he heard Miss Bennet tell Jeb that she was going to go for an early morning ride; he thought that it was nearly ten, and that what he considered as early morning had certainly changed, and in a very short period of time.

He was standing by the stables with Tilly, who seemed ever more talkative with him, and he supposed she was simply one of those girls who needed to accustom herself to a new person before speaking to him. Certainly he had been introduced to Ashbourne on three occasions before the man even condescended to remember his name, and had spent two full days shooting with him before they ever had what could properly be called a conversation, so he was not about to hold timidity against a young girl of seventeen with no great knowledge of the world.

"Begging' your pardon, miss, but my ankle has been acting up something terrible today," he heard Jeb say. "But here is Charles, the new man, who I hear tell can handle a horse, and might be able to accompany you on your ride."

Bingley turned, surprised and more than a little pleased at the thought of both a ride and genteel company.

Miss Bennet turned to him, the question in her eyes, and Bingley bowed politely. "Of course."

Jeb narrowed his eyes, but Bingley had no time to concern himself with it as he saddled a horse for himself and assisted Miss Bennet to her own horse, glad that he had in the past taken care to learn the proper way to saddle and mount a horse, and not been content to rely on the grooms all his life.

They set off at an easy pace, and Bingley had to force himself to keep behind her rather than riding beside her as he might otherwise have done. The weather had remained clement, and the ride was as pleasant as any he could remember, perhaps more so for being both unexpected and coming after so much drudgery. He took the time to look around the countryside, and found it picturesque and pleasing. Once or twice as they first set out, he thought he saw Miss Bennet glance back at him, but as he tried to meet her eyes, she would look away, and he began to think he was imagining it.

He could think of nothing to say that would not be impertinent in his situation, but she broke the silence by saying, "You handle your horse very well."

Bingley thanked her and allowed himself the liberty of pulling up closer to her.

"Did you ride often in your last position?"

"Yes, often," was all Bingley could think to say, hoping she would not ask for more details that he was ill-prepared to give, but she only nodded and looked away. Bingley pulled the horse back and fell into riding behind her.

With nothing else to occupy him, he let his mind wander, thinking, as he often did at such times, of favorite plays, and chuckling aloud as a line both apropos and humorous came to his mind. Miss Bennet looked at him in some surprise and he blushed and said, "Beg pardon, ma'am, I was only thinking of a line from a play."

"Oh, I do so love the theater. Pray tell me, what is the line and I shall try to guess the play."

Bingley smiled. "Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no fibs."

Miss Bennet laughed. "Far too easy. 'tis Goldsmith, _She Stoops to Conquer_."

Bingley pulled his horse nearer to hers. "Very well, your turn."

Miss Bennet looked at him with sparkling eyes. "'Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much.'"

Bingley tsked. "_Much Ado About Nothing_. No, no, you must go again, for you were being too easy on me, I know you were, and were only trying to flatter me with the ease of the question."

Miss Bennet laughed. "Upon my word, I was not, but if you insist I will try you again. 'What is very extraordinary in all our disputes she is always in the wrong!'"

"Sheridan's _School for Scandal_. I was wrong, you do not flatter, you condescend. You think my knowledge lacking."

She laughed again. "Indeed, I have never met a servant with such knowledge of the theater!"

The statement brought them both back to their senses. Miss Bennet fell silent abruptly and Bingley pulled his horse back so that he was no longer riding beside her. Their ride was over both too quickly and not soon enough for Bingley's sentiments. He helped her down from the horse, saw her lift her chin slightly at his touch, and could not help but be hurt when she all but fled from him. He watched her for longer than he ought to have done, and closed his eyes briefly when she was gone. He could not disapprove of her behavior; no young lady in her position would dare have acted differently towards her father's manservant.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ah, Charles, there you are! Do come in here," Mr. Bennet cried the next morning before any of the family save himself and Miss Elizabeth were awake and about. Bingley entered the study to find Mr. Bennet taking a cup of tea with his second eldest daughter. She nodded to him when he came in, a courtesy he could only remember herself and the eldest Miss Bennet extending to him.

"Lord Ashbourne has asked to borrow two of my books and I would have you take them to him."

He turned from Bingley and addressed his daughter. "A very odd man, Lord Ashbourne. I have not yet found anything ridiculous in him. I confess it rather vexes me."

"Indeed, father," Miss Elizabeth said, "I believe you ask too much. You cannot expect all of your neighbors to provide sport for you." She rose and kissed him on the cheek and was gone.

He turned back to Bingley. "Now, there is a copy of _The Aeneid_ there," he said, pointing to one of the higher shelves in the room. "Do get it down for me."

Bingley had to rise to the balls of his feet to get it, but he managed. He realized his mistake only after he had brought the book down and handed it to Mr. Bennet. The book was in Latin, and though explaining away his literacy had been a small thing, explaining away his knowledge of Latin would not be so easy. But Mr. Bennet appeared not to have noticed Bingley's error, only looked the book over and nodded to himself. "And, there, that collection of sermons by Massillon."

Fortunately the sermons were translated, and Bingley was not forced to choose between making the same mistake twice, and bringing his first error to light by claiming to be unable to recognize French.

"Very good, very good," Mr. Bennet said. He bound the two books together with a leather strap and handed them to Bingley. "Be so good as to take these to Netherfield."

The weather had turned cold overnight, but Bingley still found the walk enjoyable. He had always preferred being out of doors, moving, going places. He found being indoors most of the day, without the freedom to come and go as he chose, terribly constraining. So, looping the leather strap over his arm, and tucking his hands up by his sides, he walked slowly, and enjoyed the chilled but fresh air.

He was immensely pleased with Netherfield the moment he saw it, and thought that he would have liked to have taken it himself, though that seemed impossible now. He had no plans to ever show himself in Meryton again after all was said and done, and was glad indeed that there seemed none among the Bennets' acquaintance who moved in the circles in London that he preferred.

The footman that opened the door to him had a certain hauteur that Bingley had never encountered before.

"Mr. Bennet has sent these for Lord Ashbourne," Bingley said. When the footman attempted to take them from him, he added, "My orders are to deliver them into the hands of Lord Ashbourne."

The footman gave him an unkind look that Bingley could not quite decipher, but led him to a small breakfast room where Ashbourne was reading _The London Chronicle_ over his coffee.

"Mr. Bennet's man for you, my lord. He says he was instructed to deliver the books to you himself."

Ashbourne looked from the footman to Bingley and back. "Yes. Very good. I, ah, I will need to give M--the man here something to take back to Mr. Bennet. You may leave us."

"Very good sir," the footman said with one last uncharitable glance at Bingley, and closed the door behind him.

There was an uncomfortable silence which Ashbourne finally broke by asking, "Would you care for coffee?"

"You are a prince among men," Bingley said, and Ashbourne chuckled, walking to the sideboard to retrieve a cup. He gestured for Bingley to sit and he did so, settling into one of the comfortable dining chairs and barely restraining a sigh. Ashbourne placed the cup in front of him and sat down, looking him over.

"Where are your gloves, man?" Ashbourne asked.

"Edgeworth neglected to provide me with any," Bingley said, adding a spoonful of sugar to his coffee and wrapping his chilled fingers around the warm cup.

Ashbourne frowned but said nothing and they sat in silence over their coffee. "Well, how goes it?"

"I am perpetually exhausted," Bingley said. "The food is dreadful, the ale is watery, the housekeeper is not fond of me, nor is the groom, and I believe at least one of the maids has designs of matrimony upon me. My bed is uncomfortable and has bedbugs,"--he punctuated this statement by scratching behind one ear--"and I live in perpetual fear of being found out. I am no great performer, you know." He lifted his cup to take a sip, savoring the warm, bitter liquid.

"Oh, come now. Where is the man who is pleased with everything and everyone?"

Bingley only looked at him over the rip of his cup.

Ashbourne cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. And how goes..." He cleared his throat again.

"It has been five days, Ashbourne. Give me some time, at least."

"You will forgive me if I am somewhat...impatient."

"It might go faster if I had sought employment--"

"No!" Ashbourne cried. "Far too risky. Where you are is close enough."

"Then you will have to give it time, unless you would have me present myself at the front door and ask politely, but if it were as simple as that I would not be in this predicament." Bingley sighed. "You speak of risk, and yet you must see how the risk of discovery has increased by your decision to follow me here."

"Yes, I see it, but no one knows of my interest in this matter, and I thank heaven for that. The thought of you here alone...should things take a dangerous turn, you now have a friend near." Ashbourne refilled Bingley's empty cup and stood, walked to the window, then across the room to the far wall and back to his chair. Bingley checked his own restless tendencies and simply waited until Ashbourne had calmed himself and sat down again at the head of the table.

"Do you now expect danger? More than before?" Bingley asked. He had always known there was risk involved in this, but Ashbourne had not been so skittish before.

"Yes. No. I do not know. Ah, I am not suited to this. It has always been my goal to live my life as quietly as possible, not to get involved in--" He broke off and looked away. "Well, I imagine that I have at least given the local population something to talk about. That may prove helpful to you."

"Yes," Bingley said with a chuckle, "you and your 25,000 a year have become quite the talk of the town."

"25,000 a year! Do tell me that the local gentry are not so foolish as to confuse my family's income with my own."

"The local gentry likely are not, but you must remember that I get my news through the servants now."

"My father has threatened to cut my allowance again, you know. I will live like a pauper before he has done with me."

Bingley privately thought that even if Lord Buxton was so cruel as to cut Ashbourne's 3,000 a year allowance in half, he would be in no danger of living like a pauper, but he held his peace on that matter and changed the subject. "Have you any news of her?"

"Nothing since you and I last spoke, but I fear...for myself it is nothing, but I suffer for the sake of what she..." He pressed his fist to his mouth. "Bingley, you must know how much I appreciate this. I do not discount the hardship and...you are the best man I could have called upon."

Bingley grinned. "A praise certainly gratifying, yet somewhat lessened by my knowledge that I am the only man you could have called upon," he said and drained the last of his coffee.

Ashbourne's mouth quirked up. He could not deny it.

"I must go, or there will be suspicion. What am I to take with me?"

"What?"

"For Mr. Bennet, what am I to take with me?"

"Oh," Ashbourne said, glancing around the room. He picked up a volume of Voltaire. "With my complements."

Bingley rose and bowed. He made for the door, but Ashbourne stopped him.

"Bingley!"

He turned back.

"About that absurd introduction yesterday--"

Bingley laughed. "I must have my fun somewhere, Ashbourne," he said, and left him.

*

The rest of his day and the next after it passed less pleasantly than his morning visit to Ashbourne. He was surprised by how much of his work was repetitive. It was one thing to spend an hour hauling coal throughout the house, another to be faced with the knowledge that he would have to do it the next day and the next and the next. In the afternoon, exhausted, he settled on one of the chairs near the kitchen, tucked into a back corner, and put his feet up on a stool, wondering if he could nap for five minutes without being noticed. He had barely closed his eyes when he heard the heavy step of Mrs. Hill, but though he heard her approach he was not quick enough to avoid being caught off his feet.

"So, you have nothing to do then?" she snapped. "Fine, the field hands are digging a new privy and filling in the old one. I am sure they would appreciate the assistance."

Bingley stared at her in indignant shock. "I sat down for barely a minute, I hardly think that justifies sending me to dig a privy."

She sniffed. "I will not put up with your attitude much longer. Your speech and conduct has done you no credit. You are slow to respond when you are called, you are lax in your work, and your vain attempt to speak as what is so vulgarly called 'quality' makes you ridiculous."

Bingley choked.

"You have been here not a week and I would have dismissed you already if not--well, the master likes you, though I cannot say why. But his approbation will do nothing for you if you do not begin taking your position seriously. Do not forget that you could be replaced within the day. Now, will you do as I have said, or will you be finding other employ?"

Bingley had never in his life been so desirous of using an oath with a woman. The temptation to turn on his heel and leave the hateful place behind forever was for a moment overwhelming. But loyalty and some small stubborn streak that he had never known existed stirred within him. He took a breath, unclenched his jaw, and said, "I apologize that my work has not been to your standard, ma'am and I would be happy to assist the field hands, if you would direct me to where I can find them."

Mrs. Hill sniffed again and directed him out of doors.

*

Sunday came and he had never appreciated a day of rest more, though as he learned the particulars, it came to seem less restful than he had hoped. He found that he was allowed an extra hour of sleep in the morning, but he was still required to be up to help with the various duties about the house while the family prepared for church. As the servants were largely unable to attend church, Mrs. Hill held a Bible reading in the kitchen for them after the noon hour and all were strongly encouraged to attend. He soon learned that the strong encouragement was nothing less than a requirement, at least for the indoor servants. As he was the only one, beside Mrs. Hill herself, capable of reading, he was enlisted to the duty and given a very long Psalm to read to the assembled maids and a few of the field hands who had chosen to come. He noticed that Mary was missing, but as no one else commented, neither did he.

He did the duty with no great enthusiasm, but when he looked up from his reading, he found nearly all of the maids enraptured with him, and Mrs. Hill herself nodding approvingly.

"A fine reading," she said, and he was sure it was the first time she had ever praised him.

His natural skill at reading aloud was passable, he knew, and had been much improved by the services of an actor whom his uncle had enlisted to improve his diction before he went to Oxford, yet he was much surprised when he was pressed for a second. It seemed that the offices of someone with even scant training in the arts of voice and modulation and enunciation were novel to his audience. He chose a selection from Kings as his next, as it was more dramatic than the Psalms, and allowed for different character voices, and undertook the office with a real attempt at pleasing.

The maids were duly impressed and one or two even burst into applause at the end, but he could see Mrs. Hill was rather put out. He set the Bible aside.

"Perhaps a performance more suited to the works of Shakespeare," she said stiffly.

Bingley could not stop himself from saying, "I do a tolerable Hamlet, and a capital Romeo."

Rose perked up at this and scurried away before anything else could be said, returning with several bettered books. "Mr. Bennet got the thought to establish a servants' library afore he realized most of us couldn't read but there's still a few old books down here. I know for sure there's a book of Shakespeare here."

There was no Shakespeare in the books she had brought, only collections of sermons and books of conduct and a few general readers. His collected audience seemed so disappointed that he returned to his room, and came back with _Much Ado About Nothing_ and chose a monologue of Benedick as his performance, his favorite monologue, from act II, scene 3.

Everyone burst into applause at the end, except Mrs. Hill, but even she could not look entirely disapproving, and Bingley who had never thought his readings anything but tolerable--certainly they paled next to the abilities of a man like Henry Crawford and others he knew in town--was more gratified than he would have cared to admit.

He heard a soft applause behind him and turned to see Miss Bennet standing at the doorway, smiling. Her smile was a mix of sweetness and gentility that sent a thrill through him every time he saw it. He bowed gallantly and, despite knowing his behavior entirely inappropriate to his station, said, "The lady's applause is the sweetest music."

She favored him with a broader smile. "'tis one of my favorite plays."

"Mine as well," Bingley said, "for all that I have been told my taste is abysmal for not preferring _Hamlet_ and _King Lear_."

"For myself, I would always rather laugh than weep."

"As would I."

For a moment he had forgotten where he was, but Mrs. Hill's voice broke in sharply telling them all that they could go. Miss Bennet flinched, though no one who had not been watching her as closely as he had been would have seen it, and quit the room with no leave taking. He watched her go with unaccountable sadness. Mrs. Hill was scrutinizing him closely, he saw, but he paid her little mind.

*

Though he would have preferred to spend the rest of his Sunday asleep in his bed, there were other things to be cared for. He walked to Meryton to examine the place. The shops were all closed, of course, so he could not buy himself gloves, but he could look around and see what was there. He nodded politely to most that he passed, and spoke to many. The militia was coming to Meryton, and that was the subject most on the lips of the people. It had displaced much of the talk of Lord Ashbourne, though his arrival and tales of his eccentricities were still counted worthy of being mentioned. There was to be an Assembly also, but those he spoke to had little to say about that, and he managed to keep the wistfulness out of his voice as he asked where it would be held, and how many would attend.

Matty found him as he continued on his ramble, full of news.

"So, first you must know that Mary has gone, and you must know we knew she was going to do it, Tilly and me, and sure as we tried to talk her out of it, but she went and did it anyway, so I don't care one fig what happens to her now, for all that she's gone to London, and who knows where she'll end up now, except that she'll likely end up in the work house, or worse, though silly girl that she is, she thinks London will make her fortunes. She left this morning and went with Henry Peel who she knew was going to London, and who knows what he asked for in exchange for such a ride, if you catch my meaning. And if that's not bad enough, traveling on a Sunday. Well, see if I care one fig what happens to her now, except for I do hope she'll alright, and I do hope she don't end up in the work house, or worse. And now Longbourn will need a new scullery maid, and sure as Mrs. Hill will put her in with me and Tilly, and I hope she don't snore."

Bingley asked if Mary had any family, and Matty said, "Oh bless me yes, a mother and a father and brothers and sisters running all over the place. They never would let her keep her wages none and she couldn't save hardly anything at all for her dowry. I daresay she won't be missed at home, and her father will be glad to get rid of one of his daughters. There's seven girls in that family, if there's one, and you know too many girls about is never a good thing, if working at Longbourn teach you nothing else, it'll teach you that. The women in my family, we always take to bed with more boys than girls, as far back as I can remember, even my aunts too and I'm the only girl my mother was ever brought to bed with, excepting my sister, but she didn't live long on any account." She looked at him knowingly, but when Bingley didn't make a reply she continued, "Well. Sure as Mary is gone, Tilly is none so happy with Jeb, for all that he's sweet on her, and she knows it too, and she won't tell me why she's not sweet on him anymore, though I'm sure she was starting to like him, but she says I would just tell the whole world if she told me, which is not true because I can keep a secret, sure I can, just as sure as I kept Bess Finch's secret, about her and a certain man, more a boy really, for he ain't no more than seventeen, and I won't tell who it was or what they did, on account of I really can keep a secret.

"But, now, you don't need to know any of that, but you must know what I heard about you."

"Me?" Bingley asked.

"Yes, you, indeed, you. I heard Mrs. Hill talking to the missus about you, and about how you try to speak like quality, and try to act like quality and they was talking and I heard Mrs. Hill say that she thinks you might be--" She looked around and pulled him off the main road and into a narrow alley between two buildings. "--an actor."

Bingley's eyebrows rose. "An actor!"

"Yes, sure she said it plain as day, and she told the missus about your performance in the kitchen. And Mrs. Hill said that you just know these actors in London are always getting themselves into all sorts of scrapes and troubles, and like as you was trying to hide at Longbourn on account of you'd seduced some lord's wife and now he wanted to make you fight a duel. Mrs. Hill said actors are very debauched and shouldn't never be let into the house, especially not a house with five unmarried ladies."

Bingley bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, though he knew he should be taking the news more seriously. "And what did Mrs. Bennet say to that?"

"Well, only that she had never heard nothing so ridiculous in her life, and that Mrs. Hill should spend more time at her duties and less thinking up silly stories about actors and duels. And then she called the master and made Mrs. Hill tell him the whole story, and the master said, 'Yes, young Charles does have a way about him, doesn't he? What little I have seen of him leads me to believe he doesn't know how intelligent and learned he is. Come now, Mrs. Hill, no more thinking up such takes as to frighten the ladies. I see a great deal of promise in the lad, and if he continues to impress me, I may speak to Mr. Ridgeway about him. That boy could be a steward someday, I believe, if we can find a way to round out his education.' Just imagine, you! A steward! Wouldn't that be something? With a desk and papers all piled up around you and telling the field hands what to do and directing the gardeners and all."

She was looking at him expectantly.

"Mr. Bennet is far too kind," Bingley said with a shake of his head.

"No, he ain't that's the thing of it. You could be a steward or maybe, oh, I don't know, but I know you could be something on account of how well you speak and how you can read and how you carry yourself and all. Sometimes, when I see you walking out of the corner of my eye, I mistake you for a gentleman."

Bingley leaned against one of the buildings and smiled politely, unable to think of anything but how completely he had botched things up already.

Matty seemed disappointed that he had nothing more to say and her conversation--if something so one-sided could be called such--soon returned to the dealings of others, most of whom he knew nothing about. They parted company on the edge of town, Matty to take a meal with her family before returning to Longbourn, and Bingley to continue rambling through Meryton. The tavern was one of the few things open, and he went in for a meal of soup and ale. He had to wait several minutes before he could get a table by the window. He sat eating and looking out of the window for some time, before returning to Longbourn.

A finely dressed woman bumped into him on the edge of Meryton.

"Do watch where you are going!" she said, catching his eye and nodding almost imperceptibly.

His heart raced in his chest and he didn't dare even nod back, but he held her eye for a long moment before bowing low and apologizing.

He could see Netherfield on the walk back to Longbourn. As he was alone on the road, he stopped and looked at it and said aloud, "Ashbourne, you could not have chosen a worse spy."


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning he sat at breakfast and contemplated how he would fix his errors. He would keep his mouth closed as much as possible. He would do his work and resist every urge to speak back to Mrs. Hill. He would keep his head low, his presence uninteresting, and his manner subservient. He would, above all, refrain from flirting with any of the young ladies of the house no matter how sweet their smile, bright their eyes, pleasant their figure, or musical their laugh.

His goal was to stay as unobtrusive as possible. It had been his goal all along, of course, but he attacked it with renewed vigor. Mrs. Hill watched him closely, but though she was among the few individuals in his life for whom he would admit, if only to himself, a marked dislike, she was not unfair to him. He was forced to admit, again to himself alone for he had no one else to talk to, that his tasks were not excessively arduous, nor Mrs. Hill particularly unkind.

Mr. Bennet too seemed overly interested in him, and engaged him in conversation often. Bingley avoided him when he could and said nothing of interest when he could not. He began to fear that no matter what Mr. Bennet had said to Mrs. Hill and his wife, his curiosity had been further peaked by Mrs. Hill's clever, if incorrect, accusations.

Fortunately, beyond Mr. Bennet no one in the family paid him much mind. The two younger girls were much as Matty had warned him, and seemed to enjoy ordering him about. Miss Lydia especially seemed to always have something for him to do, usually something that seemed pointless such as straightening a curtain that appeared to be hanging perfectly well, and watched him with a small smile that he found disturbing. Miss Kitty was less blatant in her admiration, but the giggles when he left a room were mortifying. He knew Mrs. Bennet was aware of her daughters' behavior, had seen Mr. Bennet roll his eyes at it, and wondered at their neither of them checking the girls.

Miss Mary said almost nothing to him which suited him perfectly well. She seemed to move about the house unnoticed by all until she forced her presence upon the room with her didactic pronouncements. These were most often met by almost contemptuous silence and occasionally outright scorn from Miss Lydia. He pitied her, to a point, but mostly wondered that she had not yet figured out that her behavior was earning her no friends, and neither was it doing anything to influence the morals of her family, which seemed her ultimate goal.

The eldest two he could not help watching with admiration. He admired their manners as much as their persons and wondered at their being so different from their sisters.

After a few days it seemed that Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Hill had begun to tire of watching him. The weight of their eyes upon him was lifted and he began to feel as though he could breathe again. He soon felt comfortable enough to begin asking questions.

"Does the family entertain much? Are there many families of their acquaintance?" he asked as they prepared the table for a dinner party that evening.

"Oh bless me, yes," Matty said. "There's the Longs and the Sir William and Lady Lucas and Charlotte Lucas. Poor Miss Lucas is a plain thing, and I hear tell her dowry is only 500 pounds. She's near seven and twenty if she's a day, and I daresay she'll never get married now. Her poor sister ain't been allowed out yet, on account of Miss Lucas ain't married, but they'll have to let her out soon enough. It ain't fair to keep the poor girl waiting on account of her sister is too plain to catch a husband. All the Miss Bennets are out, you know, which I hear tell is not usual, but the youngest just wouldn't let their poor Papa alone after Miss Lydia turned fifteen, and after a week he couldn't take it anymore, and let them attend an assembly, which was tellin' the world that they was out. Miss Mary never did come out formal-like, only Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty was out, so the missus said that Miss Mary had to be out as well, on account of the younger girls couldn't be out before the older, so she made her start attending dinners and all, and then they was all out.

"But what was I talking about? Oh! Well, and there's Mr. and Mrs. Phillips. Mrs. Phillips is the sister of the missus. You've seen her I'm sure, she's always over here gossiping all the live long day. She's a terrible gossip, for all that I of all people shouldn't say nothing about that." She rattled off several more families that Bingley had no interest in before saying, "Oh, and Mr. Gallagher comes over sometimes. He's about five and forty, and has, oh, maybe eight or nine hundred a year. Mrs. Bennet was hoping to get him for Miss Elizabeth, on account of one time they sat in the corner and had a very long conversation about something or other, but he never showed no interest after that, and I daresay Miss Elizabeth wouldn't have him on any account. He is very old, and nine hundred a year isn't enough for her to take a man who's near the grave. He has a niece, but not many has seen her on account of she's very sickly."

"Is she?" Bingley asked with forced nonchalance.

"Aye. She came to live with him, oh, about five months back, I suppose. Very strange business. She came down by coach and four. Jeb, he saw the carriage, and said it looked like someone had covered over the livery, and didn't want anyone to know who had sent it. And it was late too, after dark certainly. I think it was after midnight. Jeb, he only seen it on account of he couldn't sleep that night and was out taking a walk. She was taken up into the house real late and all and hardly anyone even saw her, but they knew someone was in there, because she has a maid, I mean a real lady's maid, who is about sometimes, and goes into Meryton on occasion. Mr. Gallagher said she, his niece, I mean, was sickly and couldn't be out in the air. So, we all assumed that she had sprained her ankle and soon enough the servants would hear screamin' and yellin' and then a babe wailin', which is how it often happens in those cases, but a few of the servants has seen her once or twice, though not often, on account of she's never out of her room, and they said she don't look like she's carrying a babe, and after five months it's likely you'd know it to look at her. So I suppose she really is sickly, and hasn't sprained her ankle at all."

"Have you ever seen her?"

"No, never. Miss Cunningham is her name, Miss Isabella Cunningham. I hear tell she's pale, and thin, poor thing, but pretty despite it all. Mary Collins, that's the upstairs maid at Mr. Gallagher's house, she saw her once when the door to her room was open, and said she's near as pretty as our Miss Bennet, but I don't believe that. Mr. Gallagher don't speak of her much, except when people ask after her, which they usually do, because it's polite, but he has nothing to say except that she's still as sickly as ever."

They were interrupted here by Miss Kitty who came to say, blushingly, and with several backwards glances at Miss Lydia which made it clear who was instigating her, that 'her fan had somehow ended up behind the cabinet and since his arms were so much longer than hers, did he think that he could reach behind there and get it.' He heard Matty choke on a laugh and had resigned himself to the task and all the mortification contained therein before he was saved by Miss Elizabeth who said that 'Charles had work to do and was not being paid to be their personal attendant and moreover that the cabinet was all of twelve inches deep and if Kitty could not reach her fan then she must have very short arms indeed.'

The two younger girls scurried away. Bingley gave Miss Elizabeth a look by which he hoped to convey his gratitude, but she had turned away.

*

That night, he found he was on watch duty.

"It was the missus who did it," Jeb said, his animosity toward Bingley temporarily forgotten in the camaraderie that came of complaining about one's employers. "There was a theft at Lucas Lodge. Two little ones, couldn't have been more than ten or eleven, stole some silver. Didn't get far, and they was caught within the day, and got themselves hung for their trouble, but it sent the missus into a fright about burglars and thieves, and the master finally said that one of us men would have to stay up at night, and watch the house. Truth is, none of us do much watching, and the master knows it, but it looks good for the missus that we're by the door at night. You can sleep if you're able, so long as you do it with your arse right there," Jeb said, pointing to a wooden chair by the main entrance to the house. "It's not so bad. When you get watch, you can go to bed at six, and you get the whole rest of the day off to sleep, or do whatever you like." He wished him a good night before heading out.

He was not able to sleep no matter how many ways he shifted and how many positions he tried. He decided he might as well actually walk the house as he was supposed to be doing. The house was shut up for the night, entirely silent, eerie and calm at once. It was very dark, but he did not bother to light a taper and made his way by feel and an already surprisingly good knowledge of the house. Outside there was a sliver of a moon hanging in the clear sky. He stood at one of the windows and looked at it for a while before continuing on through the house. A little past midnight he thought he heard a noise in the kitchen. Walking in, he heard it again, a loud knock at the door, and he opened the door to a young boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen.

"I'm here for Matilda," the boy said without preamble.

"Matty or Tilly?" Bingley asked.

"Matilda," the boy said with more emphasis.

"Matty or Tilly?" Bingley repeated.

"What?"

Bingley closed his eyes and thought he would have liked to restart the conversation, but if such things were possible he would have liked to restart his month so that when Ashbourne had approached him and said with quiet intensity, "Bingley, I must speak with you," Bingley would have responded, "Terribly sorry my friend, but I've plans for the theater tonight, and then I am for Weymouth these next few months, but perhaps we can converse when I return."

Sadly, such things were not possible.

"We've two maids," Bingley said, "and both are named Matilda. One goes by Matty and the other by Tilly."

"Look, all I knows is I was sent to fetch Matilda who works as a maid for Mr. Bennet on account of her father took a fall and busted up his insides and won't last the night according to the surgeon."

"Sent from where?"

"Westbridge Estate," the boy said. "He works the fields there."

Matty's father worked as a day laborer and their house was owned by the Netherfield estate, Bingley knew, so it must have been Tilly he needed.

He found a taper, lit it, and took the servant's staircase to the attic. He knocked softly on the first door he came to. Rose came to the door and stared at him. She said, jarringly loud in the silence of the night, "What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for Tilly," Bingley said.

"What? Eh, now, it ain't like that here. Mrs. Hill will have your head she finds out about this."

"Her father is dying," Bingley said. "She needs to go home."

Rose said nothing to that, but her mouth formed a perfect 'o' and she pointed to the door across from hers. Matty came to the door when he knocked and he quickly stated his purpose of taking Tilly down to see an important visitor, to forestall any further misunderstandings. Tilly came out in only her chemise, with a shawl wrapped around her, but dressed quickly when he told her she would need to go home that night. They were half way down the stairs when he stopped her and told her the whole of the news, not trusting the boy at the door to deliver it with anything like tact or compassion.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she lifted her chin and followed him down to the boy who would take her to see her father, and he could only pray she would make it back in time to see him alive. The night was very cold and she had but her shawl to keep her warm. He went to his room to fetch the battered coat he had been wearing when he had come to Longbourn. It was a poor coat, and she looked if anything even more pitiable wearing it as she set off for home. He wanted to put her in something warmer, but he doubted very much that she would have been able to get warm that night, even if he had wrapped her in furs.

*

He used his day of freedom to go into Meryton and buy himself gloves. The militia came into Meryton with great fanfare, and he stood and watched them for a spell before a thought occurred to him and he returned to the shops for an additional item. As he made his way out of the village, the sea of red coats seemed to blend together into one shifting mass. He saw Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia watching with several other young ladies and giggling more loudly and uncontrolledly than any of the others.

It was after two when he returned to Longbourn. Though he was entitled to have the rest of the day off, when he saw Matty struggling to carry the load of two maids, he forwent his freedom and aided her as best he could. If he had not already earned her friendship, he suspected that that simple act of kindness would have secured it forever.

He found himself in a very odd mood that night. He met Matty's eyes over the supper table and saw a similar desire to be gone from the house. They slipped out of Longbourn after they were sure they were free for the night and sat in silence on the ground, far enough away from the house that it was unlikely anyone would notice them. It was cold, and they were just close enough to feel the heat from one another. She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, he with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"We was going to take up a collection for Tilly," Matty said. "They'll have to leave their house now, and her sister will have to find work. She's near ten, so old enough, but ain't no one wants to hire a maid that young. Tilly wouldn't never let Phoebe go anywhere she couldn't keep an eye on her, and there ain't no work for a ten year old girl in Meryton but being a maid."

"Has she no one else? No other family?"

Matty shook her head. "Well, if she weren't sweet on Jeb before, sure and she'll look at him kindly now. He'd marry her, he would, if she would only look at him twice, for all that he's in no place to do such a thing, being only a groom. That's no income to support a family. How old are you?"

"Two and twenty," Bingley said.

"Wonder you ain't married yet."

Bingley didn't reply and Matty sighed. They sat in silence for a while longer, both of them locked in their own thoughts. Bingley had never handled solitude well, and he was glad of Matty's presence, even if they had little to say. The wind picked up and they could neither of them stand the chill anymore. Matty tripped on the uneven ground as they went back inside. He caught her by the elbow and helped her right herself. She flushed at his touch and touched his arm when she thanked him. Everything in him cried out to offer her his arm on the rest of the journey, but he resisted the urge. It seemed wiser to refrain.

*

"She's too young," Mrs. Hill said.

"She's near twelve, ma'am," Tilly said.

"She's no more than ten, don't lie to me child."

"Please, ma'am, she's big for her age and she's a hard worker. She knows her place and she'll do her work. She won't never talk back."

"The missus won't hire any girl under twelve and you know it."

"But if you could talk to her--" Mrs. Hill shook her head and Tilly pressed her hand to her mouth. "Please, ma'am, there ain't no other work for her excepting maybe Mrs. Turner, but she'd be the girl of all works there, and you know how she treats those poor souls who come into her house."

"I am very sorry," Mrs. Hill said softly, "but the missus would never agree and I'll not vex her by asking."

Bingley watched as Mrs. Hill left the kitchen and Tilly broke down crying in earnest. Matty wrapped her arms around her and said, "Oh, don't cry now. Sure and she'll find work somewhere and if it is with nasty old Mrs. Turner, well, it won't be so bad. She'll never stay more than a year there, no one ever does, and then sure she can find work in some other house."

Everyone jumped when Miss Bennet came into the kitchen, and Tilly wiped at her face and scurried away to her duties. Matty was quick on her heels after a polite curtsy to Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet had only a few words for the cook before she left and Bingley, without a thought, followed her out.

"Charles, do tell Tilly I was very sorry to hear of her father's passing."

"Miss Bennet, might I suggest that perhaps you might offer her more than condolences?" She stopped and looked at him earnestly which he took as permission to continue. "Tilly had hoped to have her sister hired as scullery maid here, but Mrs. Hill believes your mother would object because her sister is not yet ten."

"Nine is rather young. I should be sorry to see a girl of that age in the scullery."

"'tis less than ideal, but better than the alternative," Bingley said.

"Then I will talk to mama," Miss Bennet said, and left him.

He was later upstairs assisting Mr. Bennet into his coat as the family prepared to leave for a dinner. "I can do it perfectly well," the gentleman had protested, when Bingley had presented himself at his door after Mrs. Bennet had ordered him upstairs. "I am not so feeble-bodied as my wife seems to think." His attempt to prove it by casually tossing on his coat in one swift motion had caused him to grab his shoulder in pain and say with a wry smile, "Well, 'tis only a slight rheumatism."

As he left, he heard Miss Bennet talking to Mrs. Bennet. "Mama, do you not think Tilly's sister Phoebe would do well in the scullery?"

"Jane, what are you talking of? Do you not know that Lord Ashbourne will be at the Lucas Lodge? The blue ribbons, the blue indeed it must be, to bring out her eyes," she instructed whichever maid was doing Miss Bennet's hair, likely Matty since he did not think Miss Bennet so impolite as to discuss Tilly's concerns in front of her. "Now Jane, do remember to smile. You have such a lovely smile. Lady Lucas is far too artful for me to trust to your being able to gain a seat by his lordship. No doubt he will be seated by Charlotte Lucas. Well! So much the better, for you cannot but sparkle beside her, my lovely Jane."

"I shall be sure to do my best," Miss Bennet said. "I only thought perhaps you did not know that Tilly's sister was in need of a place, and we have yet to find a scullery maid."

"Yes, the last one did leave us high and dry, didn't she? Off to London! Well. I hope she is rotting in the work house."

"You did not mean that, I know, and it cannot be true in any case. The poor girl must have met with kindness somewhere. Should I speak to Mrs. Hill? I am sure she would be happy to give her a chance, if she knew you approved."

"Yes, fine, do whatever you like, only smile my dear Jane, _smile_. Show Lord Ashbourne those lovely straight teeth of yours."

"Yes, mama," she said and, hearing the step of Mrs. Bennet, Bingley darted downstairs before he could be caught eavesdropping at the door.

*

He saw Miss Bennet as the family was leaving for dinner. She was indeed breathtaking in her yellow evening gown with a dark blue ribbon at her waist and matching ribbons in her hair. She was standing at the door speaking to Miss Elizabeth, but when that young lady ran upstairs to fetch her forgotten fan, he took the opportunity of approaching her, and thanking her for speaking to her mother.

"It was nothing, I assure you. I have already spoken to Mrs. Hill. Do tell Tilly that her sister must take care, for I fear Mama will not be forgiving of poor work, especially if she were to learn her age."

Bingley assured her he would.

She said, "Charles, I--I think it very kind of you to have approached me on behalf of that girl, not even your own sister."

"It was nothing," he said.

"It was. I cannot think of any person, I should say, a servant in this house ever approaching me so readily." He nearly winced at the way she said 'servant', but he thought he caught something in her eyes then, and for a moment fancied that it might have been admiration. He put that thought away with all haste.

Instead, he bowed and thanked her and said, "We none of us make our way in the world alone."

"Indeed we do not. To give help, where help can be given, is a very fine thing."

"It is," he agreed. Matty had done a fine job on her hair. She was not dressed in the latest fashions of the _beau monde_ and he feared Caroline would have been very severe indeed on the dress of her hair. Yet he thought her the loveliest woman he had ever set eyes on.

It was perhaps fortunate that Miss Elizabeth returned then, and soon after the rest of the family prepared to go. He went outside to help the family into the carriage, all six of the young ladies inside--a very tight fit indeed!--and Mr. Bennet on the box. His fingers brushed Miss Bennet's wrist as he helped her ascend into the carriage and he felt the phantom sensation on his fingers for many minutes after they had pulled away.


	6. Chapter 6

Bingley was loathe to think that he was becoming a busybody. Yet, if Mrs. Bennet would speak so loudly that she could be heard from two rooms away, and if he could find a way to busy himself right outside the parlor as the family took tea, well, he could hardly be held accountable for things he overheard as he went about his day.

"I was vastly disappointed," Miss Lydia said. "His teeth are very crooked. And all those pockmarks."

"My dear you are too harsh. I think the marks of the smallpox lend his face a certain distinction," Mrs. Bennet said. "I found him very agreeable, and very astute."

"Astute, do you call it my dear? I thought him rather dull. He only stated what was plainly in front of his face," Mr. Bennet said.

"Yes, but he did state it," Mrs. Bennet said. "'The Bennet girls--'"

"--'are very pretty,'" Mr. Bennet finished. "We have heard you quote his words many times."

"At least six times in the carriage ride home," Miss Lydia said.

"It is a shame to be sure that he did not single one of them out particularly. That would have been very good indeed. However, I am satisfied."

"I am sure you are," Mr. Bennet said wryly.

"He said no such thing about any of the other young ladies present."

"I am glad you are satisfied, mama, but the rest of the neighborhood I fear did not come away with such good opinions," Miss Elizabeth said.

"Well, they may think what they like," Mrs. Bennet said. "I am pleased with him. Vastly pleased. I cannot see why the rest of the neighborhood should hold his praise of you girls against him. As your father says, he only spoke the truth."

"It is not his praise of us that the neighborhood will hold against him, but his censure of everything else. Coupled, of course, with his lack of polite manners. He spoke hardly at all, except when asked a direct question. He called Netherfield a 'tolerable little shooting box', said Meryton was 'quaint, but rather dull' and declared that the entire area seemed 'lacking in polite society' right in front of the polite society! Indeed, mama, you must own that the only reason he uttered his now-famous complement--and for my own part I cannot think it a complement since it was clearly given most reluctantly--was that Sir William asked him if there was anything that he did approve of and the entire table was staring at him for an answer. I trust father that he has now given you something to ridicule?"

Mr. Bennet only chuckled.

Bingley blushed for his friend. Ashbourne's manners declined as his discomfort rose, and to have found himself in so much company, in mixed company, with not a single person he knew by his side, he must have been very uncomfortable. It hardly excused such behavior, but Bingley at that moment felt more for Ashbourne than he did for those he had offended.

"I think that we ought not to think any more of the complement than is necessary. It smacks of vanity."

"Oh do be quiet, Mary! You only say such things because you know he was not including you in his comment, plain little thing that you are."

"Lydia!"

There was a slight pause, then he heard Miss Lydia mutter, "I am sorry Mary," with nothing of sincerity in her voice.

"For my part, I think perhaps he is...well, I do not know what I would call him exactly, but I do believe he did not mean to give quite so much offense," Miss Bennet said. "I spoke to him after dinner and he seemed vastly uncomfortable. I think he realized he had not presented himself very well."

Bingley smiled. She, of course, would understand him.

"Well, perhaps his brother will do a better job of pleasing his neighbors."

"Brother?" Mrs. Bennet asked.

"Yes, a certain Colonel Fitzwilliam will be joining him shortly and it seems it will be for some time too. He told me so himself last night."

"A colonel!" Kitty exclaimed. "Oh, how delightful!"

"Indeed, my dear, and you can be sure that the man has no thoughts on entering the neighborhood but to take for himself a very silly wife who is sure to faint at the first sight of his red coat."

Bingley bit his lip, wondering what Ashbourne planned to do about his brother and why Colonel Fitzwilliam would choose now to renew his relationship with his brother when, to the best of Bingley's knowledge, the two men had had a strained relationship for several years at least.

*

Bingley found Jeb in the stables, carefully brushing Ruby, his favorite of Mr. Bennet's horses. John, one of the stable boys, nodded to him in greeting and Bingley nodded back. He called Jeb's name and was greeted with a rude grunt. It seemed that his animosity towards Bingley had returned full-force, and Bingley was sure he could date it from last night, when Tilly, who had somehow found out about his advocacy for her sister, had hugged him in front of half the servants, including Jeb. She had at least been wise enough to keep it from Mrs. Hill, who was already upset about Phoebe's hiring but for now thought that Miss Bennet had caught wind of it from someone outside the Bennet household.

"I have something for you," Bingley said.

Jeb turned and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He fashioned it in a queue, but some of the shorter pieces in the front always fell into his eyes. "What's that?"

Bingley held out the package he had gotten in Meryton, a small bundle wrapped in brown paper.

Jeb opened it with no enthusiasm, as if he expected it to contain a three week old dead fish. He gave Bingley a very queer look when he finally saw what it contained.

"What's this then?"

"They're ribbons," Bingley said.

"Ribbons? The devil do I need ribbons for?"

"They are black ribbons," Bingley said. "For mourning."

"Ain't no one in my family died and I wouldn't wear ribbons if they had."

"They're for Tilly you ninny!" John said and tossed a fork-full horse manure into the pile by the door. Bingley stepped back just in time.

"Oh," Jeb said. "Well give them to her then."

Bingley managed to refrain from rolling his eyes, but only just. "I thought she might appreciate them more coming from you."

Jeb looked at the ribbons and then at Bingley. "She was sweet on me before you came. We used to talk sometimes, but now all she talks about is what nice manners you has and how good you talk and how fine you look when you eat and how nice your clothes are."

"Mr. Bennet gave me these clothes." And they were dreadful.

"That's what I told her! But she went on about how it wasn't the clothes, it was how you wear 'em and how much care you take to look so good. Did you really ask the cook if you could take an old bowl, and fill it every night with water, just so you can have a wash in the morning?" He looked at the ribbons, sighed, and handed them back to Bingley. "You give 'em to her. Just...be good to her. You and me will have a brush if you ain't."

"I do not want her," Bingley said.

Jeb narrowed his eyes. "Why not? She's a nice girl."

"She is a perfectly sweet girl, but I assure you I have no feelings beyond the most basic friendship for Tilly."

"You bought her them ribbons."

"That was nothing."

"Them's silk! Must be half a guinea there." Bingley bit back a sigh. He'd forgotten himself again. After a moment, Jeb said, "You really don't want her?"

"No."

Jeb shifted from one to the other. John rolled his eyes and muttered something about how muslin always made men stupid. "Could you maybe show me how to dress...I mean how to..."

"Oh," Bingley said, catching his meaning. "Well, I'm hardly...perhaps the queue. They're going out of fashion, you know, among the younger men. And if you shaved a bit closer. Have you ever heard of Brummel?"

Jeb frowned. "He the queer fellow that takes a bath every day?"

*

"Ah, they're both chicken breasted anyhow," George was saying, as Bingley left the stables after imparting as much of his knowledge of fashion and manners as he felt he could dare, under the circumstances. Bingley had already learned to avoid George, who was exceptionally vulgar, and a brawler. George was one of the men who worked the fields, but this late in the year he spent much of his day talking with his brother, who was the Bennet's coachman. "Rose has a figure to speak of, but she's a spotted thing. You can't see her face for the pimples. Now, the ladies of the house, there's nothing you can say against them. They say Miss Bennet is the handsomest but Miss Lydia is a prime article if ever I saw one. I wouldn't say no to a chance at her water mill," he said with a laugh. "They say she's like to be a bird of paradise."

Bingley stiffened. He knew he should have walked on, but he could not. "That is the daughter of your master."

"What? Like you ain't aching to occupy one of 'em."

"George, do lay off," Will said. Will, Bingley knew, was accustomed to attempting to restrain his brother, though not often with much success. Jeb, who had followed Bingley out of the stables, looked annoyed.

"Don't get your bawbles twisted, we're having fun is all. There now, there's Miss Elizabeth," he said, nodding to the young lady as she strolled in the garden. He laid a meaty hand on Bingley's shoulder. "You tell me you don't want to mount her."

Bingley removed the hand from his shoulder. "No."

"No!" He grinned. "I heard about your performance in the kitchen. Is it Miss Bennet's notch you've been thinking--"

Bingley punched him. George struck back with a blow to the gut, but Bingley jumped back. The punch connected, but not with full force. George was more massive, but shorter than Bingley. Bingley was faster, and moreover he had spent--misspent, according to his uncle--a good part of his youth in the boxing ring. Admittedly, fighting other gentlemen for sport was not quite the same as fighting a man who followed no rules of the ring and had fought to survive since childhood, but it did give him some small chance.

They traded a fast flurry of blows and then George kicked his legs out from under him, sending Bingley to the ground. He came up fast, shoved George into the side of the stables, one hand bunched up in his shirt, and landed a blow to the side of his face. George punched him in the ribs, knocking some of the wind out of Bingley's attack and kicked his legs out again, but this time Bingley managed to catch one of George's legs and pull him down with him.

Bingley was on him before George could recover from the fall and had both hands fisted in his shirt. George boxed his ears.

"Enough!" Mr. Ridgeway shouted.

Bingley, dazed from the final blow, managed to get off of George and sat on the ground, breathing heavily, red-faced, and shaking.

"What's this about, then?"

"Just a bit o' muslin is all," Will said calmly.

Mr. Ridgeway looked at the two of them. George had regained his feet and did not look fazed by what had occurred. Bingley struggled to his own, still trembling. His ears were ringing.

"Is that all it is?"

George nodded and Bingley reluctantly did the same.

"You want to knock each others brains out, you do it on your own time. Get back to work." He glanced at John who had rushed out to watch the fight. "You too, or I'll see you birched!" The boy scrambled back to his duties.

George and Will left without a word. Jeb put a hand on Bingley's shoulder, but Bingley shook him off. He pressed a hand to his face and felt that his jaw was hot. He licked his lips and tasted blood. His knuckles hurt.

"You alright?"

"I will be," Bingley said. He managed a wry smile and Jeb, with a doubtful glance, returned to his own duties.

He found his way to a watering trough and plunged his hands in. The water was terribly cold, but he was over-heated and it felt good as he rubbed his face and the back of his neck.

"Charles?"

For once, the pleasant voice was not music to his ears.

"Miss Bennet," he said, mortified by his behavior and unable to look at her.

"What happened?"

"Nothing of consequence." He dared to raise his eyes and saw that her eyes were kind and there was no censure in them. Surely she could guess what he had been about.

She handed him her handkerchief, embroidered with her own initials woven with roses and leaves. "You are very accomplished," he said, hardly aware of the words. "All young ladies are accomplished. I've never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished." He fingered the embroidery. "I only meant that this is very well done."

Miss Bennet smiled. "Thank you. It is for your face."

"My face?"

"You are bleeding."

"I am," Bingley said and pressed the handkerchief to his split lip. "You should not be here."

He could not read her expression, but he thought he caught a flinch in her eyes. "I should not."

"The mud will dirty your muslin, I mean," he said, pointing to the ground around the trough.

She glanced down and almost laughed. "Yes, it will," she said and stepped back to where the ground was drier. She looked terribly self-conscious and glanced around. There was no one paying them any mind. The trough was largely hidden from view. "Good day," she said and dipped into a curtsy seemingly without even thinking.

Bingley's eyes widened and Miss Bennet blushed terribly. She rushed away without another word.

*

"Mr. Bennet is sending a present of game to Mr. Gallagher. You're to carry the pheasants over to Gallagher Cottage, with Mr. Bennet's complements," Mrs. Hill said the next morning.

Bingley, who had spent the last week trying to think of a way to arrange things so that he could visit Gallagher Cottage without suspicion, nearly had to pinch himself to keep himself from getting too excited. He took the pheasants from the gamekeeper and set out at a brisk pace, but as he neared the cottage, nervousness, and fears of botching things beyond repair, set in. His palms were sweating when he knocked on the kitchen door. The kitchen maid, for there was only one in this house, answered and had him set the pheasants on the large work table.

Before he had time to contemplate how he was going to stay in the house for more than a few moments, the same woman who had bumped into him on the road entered the kitchen, and exclaimed, "Well, I'll be, Charles Bingley, that is you! As if I could ever forget that hair. I haven't seen you since you were a little thing tugging at your mother's apron."

He froze and the woman came up and hugged him tightly. It took him a moment to recover before it occurred to him to hug her back. "You don't remember me, I'm sure."

"Nell," Bingley said, finally recovering himself enough to speak.

"Oh, you do remember me! So, all grown you are and working at the Bennet place. Well, you're a long way from home, but then so am I and that is life sometimes. Come along then. Miss Cunningham is asleep and I've nothing to do but mending, and very little of that. I'll walk along with you, back to Longbourn."

No one seemed to give them a second look as they left, and by the time they'd walked away from the house, Bingley could breathe again.

"So," Nell said, "you are the one he sent. Well, you're easy enough to recognize, at least." She gave a pointed glance to his windblown red hair.

"How is she?" Bingley asked after glancing around to make sure they were alone in what he hoped was a not too-suspicious manner.

"Not well," Nell said, sadly. "Aye, and it makes me so angry to hear how he talks of his poor sickly niece, confined to her room with only her maid to attend her. As if I'm allowed in there for more than ten minutes at a time. She was well enough when he confined her, but she has been five months in there and oh but that is taking a toll on her. She has her books. I suppose he knows that she'd go mad as a hatter if he took those away, and he doesn't want that, at least not until the vows are said, then she could skip her way to Bedlam for all he'd care."

Bingley thought to himself that if he were locked up in a room for five months with no company, he'd go mad as a hatter regardless of how many books he had.

"Does he beat her?"

"Not that I've seen. Likely he knows it would not do him any good, and would only tire his arm. She has got a will of iron, that one. You tell Ashbourne he has nothing to worry about from her, she is holding firm, and will not give in, not even if she stays locked up for the rest of her life. Not that she will, mind. We'll get her out."

"We will," Bingley said, with confidence he didn't feel. "Can you give her a message?"

"Maybe," she said. "I'm never allowed to be alone with her, not since he caught her trying to escape his house. I nearly lost my place after it, but the marquess let me keep it in the end, because he did not know for certain that I had been party to the goings on, and I suppose he was not of a mind to take on someone else, being made so very cautious by the incident."

"Does he know her lover?"

"She never has given him up. All his letters, burned as soon as she read them, and now she cannot receive any letters at all." She shook her head. "He suspects every gentleman who comes within ten miles of her, in any case. He's spent the last week talking about Lord Ashbourne. What's he thinking, coming here like that?"

"He is in love," Bingley said.

Nell laughed. "Aye, and that will make fools of us all, won't it? What happened to your face, by the by?"

Love will make fools of us all.

"Nothing that affects Miss Cunningham," Bingley said quickly. They were near to Longbourn and their conversation could not last. "If you can, give her the message that she is not forgotten."

Nell said she would, and they parted company.

*

Ashbourne came to call the next day, much to Mrs. Bennet's delight. She was happy to allude to his earlier comment several times, and presented him with all five of her daughters at once. Ashbourne appeared as unnerved as Bingley had ever seen him. His expression appeared to Bingley's knowing eyes to plea for mercy, though to someone who did not know the man, he would have looked only vaguely disapproving. Bingley wondered anew that Ashbourne had managed to not only fall in love with a woman, but had inspired her devotion in return.

Though Mrs. Hill had declared he ought not to be seen by guests until his face healed, he managed to contrive to take over the duties of serving, and thus to stay in the room for the duration of Ashbourne's fifteen minute visit. He had to keep his tongue firmly between his teeth to avoid falling into his usual habit of covering over all of Ashbourne's social deficiencies with his own conversation.

"I understand you are not entirely pleased with Netherfield," Miss Elizabeth said.

Bingley tried not to cringe and hoped that Miss Elizabeth would not be too hard on him. She was wonderfully quick, and Ashbourne would never be able to match wits with her.

"It is nothing to Kentridge is all," Ashbourne said.

"Kentridge is your father's estate," Mrs. Bennet said and Ashbourne remained silent until she prompted him further. "Is it not?"

"One of them, yes. It is his seat. There is also Combe Park and Yardley Hall. We have also Evesham Manor, but that is a tiny estate and hardly worth thinking of." Ashbourne spoke without once looking at any of the people in the room.

Bingley shifted from foot to foot, wishing he could sit. He had been tired of late. He wondered how anyone was expected to go day after day on no more than six hours of sleep. The brawl seemed to have sapped his last reserves of energy. He fought back a yawn.

"So many?" Miss Lydia said. "Why do you need them all?"

"Oh, Lydia, what a silly question!"

Ashbourne smiled at the picture on the far wall. "I have wondered the same thing myself, more than once."

"And you also have Fitzwilliam House, in London. It is on St. James Square, I understand," Mrs. Bennet said.

Ashbourne only nodded.

"And with all that, you still took Netherfield. One does wonder why," Miss Elizabeth said.

"I wished to be out of London and I had never been to Hertfordshire," Ashbourne said quietly. "That was all."

The rest of the visit passed in much the same manner and Bingley thought Ashbourne did rather well for being in a room with six women, and without his usual support of a friend who understood his eccentricities. (The man never did make social calls alone.) He managed to contrive to be the one to assist Ashbourne as he returned to his horse and they stole a few minutes conversation.

"That was dreadful. They all hate me."

"No!"

"Have you heard about the dinner party? I offended everyone. I hate when people ask me what I think. I always tell them the truth and I always get into trouble for it. I need a drink."

Bingley shook his head, but didn't dare put his hand on Ashbourne's shoulder in case anyone was watching. "Did you bring your collections with you?" Ashbourne preferred his collections to most people, and spent much of his time adding to them, labeling them, and coming up with new ways to sort them.

"Only the beetles."

"Go home, take a stiff drink, and sort your beetles. That will calm you."

Ashbourne ran his hands through his hair. "Yes. You are right. My brother will come tomorrow."

"I wondered when I heard that."

"Did you hear it then? I told Mr. Bennet hoping the news would make its way to you. I've no idea what he wants. His letter was short and very vague. We've not spoken in months, not since we were forced together at Pemberley."

"It will be fine."

"It may be fine. It may ruin everything."

"Do not think on that overmuch. Go home and calm yourself."

Ashbourne took a breath and appeared to relax slightly. "Thank you, my friend." He glanced at the house. "We need to find time to talk. Can you come to Netherfield under cover of darkness?. Tonight?"

"Not tonight, George has watch of the house and I fear we are not friends at the moment." He touched his sore jaw. "Jeb has watch tomorrow night, and he will say nothing if I leave."

"Tomorrow then, at midnight. My brother takes to bed early when he can. I will meet you at the front entrance. I walk the house frequently at night, and sometimes the grounds. No one will think anything of it if they see me up late at night," Ashbourne said. He made for his horse.

Bingley cleared his throat and held out his hand. Ashbourne looked at it quizzically.

"Vails are standard for services."

Ashbourne looked exasperated and dropped several coins into Bingley's hand before Bingley helped him onto his horse. He went into the house with the coins in his pocket and dropped them into the collection for Tilly before supper that night.

*

Bingley had no trouble stealing from the house the next night. Jeb, who was under the impression that Bingley was meeting a friend of the fairer sex, only made a show of saluting him as he left the house. He walked quickly through the cold night air, nervousness and a desire to be out of the chill driving his step. He scaled the steps to Netherfield and waited outside the door. When the door opened slightly, he slipped inside.

The next thing he knew, he was shoved roughly, face-first, against the wall. Something cold and metal was pressed into his skull just behind his left ear and a voice hissed in his ear, "_Qui êtes-vous? Est-ce que vous êtes un espion français?_"


	7. Chapter 7

The hammer of the gun cocked. "_Qui êtes-vous?_"

"_Je ne parle pas français._"

He was spun roughly around and pushed into the door, an arm pressed against his throat. The muzzle of the gun was against his chest.

"Mr. Bingley?"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," Bingley said. He paused and then, because manners were the only thing he could think to fall back on in this situation, he added. "How do you do, sir?"

"Richard, what are you doing to my friend?"

"Andrew?"

Fitzwilliam reluctantly lowered the pistol and un-cocked the hammer. "Would you care to tell me--"

"Into the sitting room," Ashbourne said. "Quickly, before a servant sees us."

They seated themselves into a small downstairs sitting room, and for some minutes sat in silence. There was still a fire burning and, along with the moon outside, they could see with little difficulty. Ashbourne rose and poured each of them a drink before serving himself.

"Now," Fitzwilliam said. "Why is Mr. Bingley scurrying about outside of your house in the middle of the night dressed like that?" He turned to Bingley. "It was my understanding that you were for Scarborough."

Bingley only shook his head and took a long drink of brandy to calm his shaken nerves.

"This does not concern you, brother," Ashbourne said. An edge that Bingley could not recall ever hearing before had slipped into his voice.

"I disagree," Fitzwilliam said. His voice was calmer than Ashbourne's but somehow more unnerving.

Bingley cleared his throat. "Ashbourne, surely it cannot hurt to tell Colonel Fitzwilliam. He of all people would not betray you. In any case, if he is to be staying with you, he must know."

Ashbourne narrowed his eyes at his brother, but nodded in reluctant agreement.

Fitzwilliam drummed his fingers on the arm of his wing chair. They'd all pulled close to the fire. Bingley had almost forgotten how comforting a warm fire and a glass of brandy could be. There was no fire in his room at Longbourn and he closed his eyes as this fire chased away some of the chill that had invaded his entire body of late.

At length, Ashbourne said, "It is a very long story. I confess I've no idea where to start." He tossed back his brandy in three large gulps and rubbed the back of his neck. He cast another glance at his brother and seemed very reluctant to begin. Finally, though, he commenced. "I suppose I should begin with Orville."

"The pug?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"Yes, the pug. Have you never wondered why I took in one of those little beasts when as a rule I cannot stand them?" He did not wait for an answer. "Two years ago I was in London during the summer. 'tis a situation which sane men avoid as best they can, but my father would send me to care of his business. I had only just exited the chair and was preparing to enter Fitzwilliam House when a little pug came up and began barking at my feet. I was of half a mind to kick the thing away and go inside, but I could not bring myself to. It was clearly well cared for, and wore a very fine collar, which was monogrammed with a large 'C'. I knew of only one family by the name of 'C' on the block, the Cartwrights, but when I inquired at their door, the butler informed me that they had gone for the summer, and kept no dogs in any case. He also told me that he knew of a young lady by the name of Cunningham who lived right across the way and that he believed he had seen one of the footmen from the house walking a pug in the mornings.

"The house that I was sent to was in fact the house of the Marquess of Dorset."

Fitzwilliam started at the name, but when Bingley and Ashbourne looked to him for an explanation, he merely motioned for Ashbourne to continue.

"I presented myself at the door. The footman appeared at first reluctant to allow me entrance, but then he relented and took me to see a young lady...a young lady..." He pressed his lips together and appeared to force away whatever melancholy thoughts had clouded his mind. "A young lady of about seventeen seated upon a chair, sobbing. When she saw her dog, she leapt from her seat and took the dog into her arms joyfully. Then she hugged me."

Fitzwilliam attempted to disguise a laugh behind a cough. Ashbourne smiled ruefully. "Yes, brother, my reaction was much as you are likely picturing. I am afraid I was unable to speak or move until she had released me." Sadness clouded his eyes, but he shook his head and continued. "'Oh my dear little Orville,' said she, 'I thought I should never see you again.' She paled then, and thrust the dog into my arms. 'No!' she cried. 'He cannot be here. You must take him, but I beg you, sir, that you will take care of him.' I was, as you may guess, somewhat confused by this turn of events. I attempted to impress upon her that I had no desire to take in a dog. 'Then,' said she, 'I beg only that you will find someone who will. Dear sir, you have shown such kindness to me already. Will you not show me just a little bit more?' As she spoke, she seemed to become more agitated, and appeared almost fearful. I took my leave of her, promising to find someone to care for the animal."

He paused and refilled his glass. Bingley leaned forward slightly with interest. He had never before heard the history of the account in detail. It seemed that when Ashbourne was not frightened of his audience, his narration could be quite compelling.

"I had only just returned home, when a letter was delivered to me. The footman who gave it to me informed me that it had been delivered by a woman he had never seen before, who had left no name, nor anything else, besides the letter. The letter itself bore no markings on the outside. When I opened it, I found that it was a letter from the same young lady whom I had just met. She explained in her letter that she was not at liberty to keep the dog because her uncle, the Marquess of Dorset, had forbidden her. She had offended him, in what way she did not then say, and he had tossed the dog from the house as her punishment. She begged me once again to care for the animal and closed her letter, 'Miss Audley.'"

"Miss Audley!"

Ashbourne smiled without humor. "The same. You know Miss Audley's fortune, and that it is immense. The Duke of Leicester left her his entire fortune, when it was found that the title would die with him. Lord Dorset feels that he should have been the one to benefit."

"What claim has Lord Dorset on the Duke of Leicester's fortune?"

"Lord Dorset is the Duke's nephew as well as Miss Audley's uncle. You did not know this?"

"You will forgive me if I have not yet found time to memorize the genealogy of every noble-born family in England."

"The Duke's sister, Lady Elizabeth Burby, was married to the Lord Dorset's father, the 1st Marquess of Dorset. Lord Dorset's brother, Lord George Audley, married the Duke's daughter, Lady Anne Burbey. Their child is Miss Audley. All of that is generally known. What is not known is that Lord Dorset wants the fortune to stay within the family, and is insisting that Miss Audley marry his son, Lord Walden. Miss Audley will not. Lord Dorset has been trying to force her to his will since she was sixteen. He began by taking away her companion, and later isolated her from all her friends. At the time I met her, he had only that morning cast her dog from the house, declaring that he did not care if it starved." Ashbourne looked at his brother. "You do not seem surprised."

"I know what Dorset is capable of. No, I am not shocked by this."

"Miss Audley and I began corresponding with the help of Nell, Miss Audley's lady's maid. After a year, we decided that we would elope. Miss Audley's spirits were by then very low and she feared she would not be able to resist her uncle for very much longer. She planned an escape, with Nell's help. We were to go to Scotland. At the last minute the plan was foiled, I know not how. Dorset found out what we had planned and she was unable to escape. This was about six months ago." Ashbourne paused here and stared into the fire. "In the spring, at Pemberley, you accused me of being morose, and even more uncivil than is normal for me. Is this not sufficient excuse for my behavior?"

"It might have been, if you had seen fit to tell me," Fitzwilliam said sharply. He glanced at Bingley, and the brothers seemed to become aware that there was a third in the room. Bingley for his part was lost in his thoughts. He had long wondered how Ashbourne had managed to find himself in love, and that it had happened entirely by letter seemed to fit so perfectly with the man's character that Bingley wondered that he had never thought of it before.

Ashbourne continued, "Lord Dorset was livid, of course. I know little of what passed at this time, of what she suffered. We dared not attempt to communicate in any way. When I heard it said that Miss Audley had gone abroad, I knew it was not true. Or, I hoped it was not true. The thought of her in some foreign country, entirely out of my reach, was almost too much to bear. It was only two months ago that I learned of her true fate, through Mr. Edgeworth, a good friend of mine who is privy to Lord Dorset's doings, though secretly he despises the man almost as much as I do. I learned that Dorset had sent Miss Audley, rather Miss Cunningham, to Hertfordshire, under the guise of a very sickly young lady who had gone to live with an uncle in the country. Miss Audley is called Miss Cunningham and has been for several years, whenever Lord Dorset wishes it not to be known that she is present lest she raise curiosity in her neighbors. She is locked up as a prisoner in the house of Mr. Gallagher. I intend to get her out."

Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair, his hands laced across his belly. "I presume then that Mr. Bingley is disguised as a servant then to make it easier for him to gain access to Mr. Gallagher's house, and thereby aid the escape of your Miss...Audley."

"Miss Cunningham," corrected Ashbourne. "I dare not refer to her, even think of her, by any other name, not in the present, lest I give myself away. But, yes, you are correct."

"Why Bingley?"

Ashbourne shrugged his shoulders. "I am not like you. I have few friends on which to call when I am in need. The only man I trust more than Bingley is Darcy. Can you picture Darcy taking a position as a manservant in the house of a country gentleman?"

Fitzwilliam choked on his brandy and needed a powerful wallop on the back to get his breathing going again. "Quite," he said when he had recovered himself.

"I did offer," Bingley said quietly. Ashbourne had considered taking on the role himself, but Bingley had managed to talk him out of that with little difficulty--they both of them knew that Ashbourne could never handle such a task--and offered himself instead. He had thought it might be fun, a bit of sport. That thought had lasted only until Edgeworth had presented him with a new set of clothes.

"Why not bribe the servants?" This suggestion was met with silence, and Fitzwilliam continued, "If you bribed only one servant in Mr. Gallagher's house, you would be in the same position you are in now. If you bribed two or three, you could easily effect her escape. Why do you not simply pay them to help you?"

Bingley and Ashbourne sat in silence for some time before Ashbourne finally turned to Bingley and asked, "Why did not we think of that?"

"Because we are terrible spies," Bingley said, flushed hot with embarrassment.

Fitzwilliam rubbed his face in a way that made it clear he was concealing a smile. "You have been a servant in Mr. Gallagher's house for how long?"

Bingley shook his head. "Not in Mr. Gallagher's house, in Mr. Bennet's. We feared getting too close too soon."

Fitzwilliam sat up. "You are passing yourself as a servant in Mr. Bennet's house."

He chuckled softly to himself and Bingley bristled. He got up from his chair and said, "Well, at least I can leave off this absurd disguise. I look forward to sleeping in a comfortable bed tonight."

"No!" Fitzwilliam said. "No, I have need of you. More than that, your king has need of you. Do, sit down. Please, you may..." He bit his lip. "Your initial decision to take up your current employment may have been...somewhat ill-judged, but it has worked out far better than I could ever have imagined."

The men talked long into the night.

*

Bingley returned to Longbourn in the very early hours of the morning, his mind spinning, his body exhausted, and his belly full of too much brandy--Ashbourne had excellent taste, and Bingley had been deprived of the finer things of late. He emptied his stomach behind a tree by the side of the road and slipped into the house just as Jeb was preparing to leave to enjoy his day. Jeb chuckled at him as he came in and asked him if he had enjoyed himself. Bingley could only smile weakly which caused Jeb to laugh uproariously.

He forced himself to take some food at breakfast, though his stomach rebelled against it, and he could only eat half a bowl of gruel. He could not bring himself to touch the ale. He would have given almost anything for a cup of coffee, or strong tea, but that was only served at dinner and seemed tortuously far away. He went through his work that morning feeling as if he were in a dream, only half-aware of all that was going on around him. Matty talked at him once or twice, Mrs. Hill scolded him, and Bingley daydreamed about curling up on one of the couches and going to sleep.

He slipped outside, hoping the cold air would revive him, but it seemed the chill seemed only to settle close to his bones. When Mrs. Hill found him idle, she scolded him and sent him to help Tilly get water for mopping.

Dinner came and went, and there was only so much the tea could do, but it fortified him against the rest of the day. His stomach settled and though his head ached, he managed to carry out most of his tasks.

He left the house again late in the afternoon and sat on a low stone wall watching the last of the light fade from the sky. He closed his eyes, hung his head, and pulled his coat tighter around himself, knowing he should return to the warmth of the house, yet unable to face it just then.

"Charles?"

His head came up so quickly that it made him dizzy.

"Miss Bennet."

He started to struggle to his feet, but Miss Bennet shook her head and sat next to him.

"Mrs. Hill is looking for you. I told her I had sent you on an errand."

He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he only thanked her. She was behaving oddly, casting him fleeting glances out of the corner of her eye and looking away when he attempted to meet her gaze. Her gloved fingers were tangled in her skirts. He had left his own gloves inside. His fingers were stiff and painfully cold.

"You ought to be at your work," Miss Bennet said. She sounded as if she was trying to scold him, and failing rather miserably.

"Yes," he agreed and closed his eyes.

"What are you thinking of?"

He looked at her. "I do not even know. Life, I suppose. I never planned--" He broke off, unsure how to finish.

Jane smiled sadly.

"Do you miss your family?" she asked.

He laughed. "I suppose so. No one has asked me such a thing before, not since I have been here."

She blushed. "I only...it occurred to me that perhaps you are missing your family, and that is why you seem so sad. They are not near here, I know."

"My sisters are in London. I have some more distant family in the north."

"I heard my father say that he thought perhaps you could be a steward someday. He said you are quite well educated."

Bingley laughed. "I confess I have no plans in that direction."

"Well, perhaps you could be a clerk. Or a...there are many good professions that a man can enter into when he can read, and write, and speak well, as you can. My uncle is in trade in London. I am sure that he would be happy to give you a position, if he were to meet you and know you and..."

"Do you want me gone, Miss Bennet?" Bingley asked, genuinely confused as to what she meant by the conversation. He rubbed his hands together, desperate for warmth.

"No!" She looked away. "Oh, I never planned!" She stood up. "You really must return to your duties, Charles. Mrs. Hill will scold you if you are gone too long."

She went into the house, and Bingley followed a few minutes later. The kitchen was terribly warm, but it took him some time to stop shivering.

*

He slept fitfully that night, his mind tormented with strange dreams. Men shouted at him in French, Edgeworth sent him letters he could not read, and Miss Bennet put a pistol in his hand and demanded that he turn back the army of William the Conqueror all on his own.

He woke if anything less rested than he had gone to sleep, and resigned himself to another miserable day.

Just before the one o'clock hour, when he would have had half an hour to sit down and, even better, a cup of tea to look forward to, he tripped on the edge of the carpet and bumped against a small end table, sending a porcelain figurine to the ground. It was Meissen, a man with a fiddle, and Bingley watched in horror as it struck the floor at just the right angle to break the handle of the fiddle clean off.

Exhausted, suffering the brutal after-effects of too much liquor on an empty stomach, suffering an anxiety he had never known from what he had been told the night before, and utterly horrified by what had just happened, he stared at the broken figurine and began to laugh. He felt quite mad, but he could not help himself.

Miss Bennet came in then, a frown on her perfect face, and he was struck by the insane urge to kiss her soundly on the lips, renounce this farce of an employment, and flee back to London to sleep for an age.

Fortunately, he managed to refrain.

"It's broken."

Miss Bennet looked at the figurine. "It is," she said.

"I can replace it."

"Oh, Charles, I am afraid this is Meissen, I very much doubt..."

"I know what it is. My sister has one just like it in her room. I could give you hers, though hers is a bit larger and I think there is a dog in it. Also, she might object. Caroline does not like people taking her things. I could simply buy you another one. Or two. Three. I could fill that cabinet with Meissen," he said, nodding to the large cabinet on the far wall. "Well, perhaps not fill it."

She bent down and set the broken pieces on the table, then walked to the door and closed it.

"Are you unwell?"

Bingley sat down on the couch. "Yes, actually, though I am not mad. I know how I must sound, but I am not." He looked at her, looked at her clear blue eyes which were clearly concerned, and perhaps even a bit frightened, but never angry, always still caring. "Can I tell you the truth? All of it? No, not all of it. Can I tell you some of it?"

"Truth?" Miss Bennet said, seating herself across from him. "Charles, of what truth do you speak?"

"I have one hundred thousand pounds, Miss Bennet, or near enough to it. My income last year was close to five thousand pounds, and if my investments continue on course, I can look forward to being presented with a similar number by my solicitor this year."

Miss Bennet was quiet for nearly a minute. She shook her head. "No. No, you are joking. Or you are feverish."

"I am a wealthy man. I am nothing to Ashbourne, of course, but I am of independent fortune and means."

"But you--"

"Are here, yes." He told her then, not all of it, but enough. He told her of Ashbourne and Miss Cunningham who was in fact Miss Audley, of their plan, of his coming here. He managed to restrain his tongue before he further humiliated himself by telling her how desperately lonely he felt, in this house surrounded by people, not one of whom he could speak to without guarding his tongue, or how weak he felt to find that a girl half his size was able to work from the rise of the sun to the setting of it and beyond without complaint while he was forever getting behind on his work despite his best efforts.

He told her of Colonel Fitzwilliam and what he had been told and why he was still in their house despite learning that he and Ashbourne were the biggest fools in the kingdom.

Miss Bennet stared at him when he finished speaking. "If this is true...if this is true, you most certainly ought not to have told me!"

"I know," Bingley said. "But I am a terrible spy and as an agent of the crown I am truly abysmal. And perhaps I am a bit feverish." He touched his cheek and found it hot.

"I cannot keep this from my father. You cannot ask me to!"

She was right. He rose from his chair, ready to--to--he knew not what he was to do, perhaps throw himself at her feet and apologize, but then the world went grey at the edges, and every color he had ever known sparkled in front of him. The sound of her voice calling his name was very far away, and then there was nothing at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Bingley jerked awake as the bandage tightened on his upper arm. A strong hand on his chest pushed him back down onto the bed. For a moment, he could not remember where he was, but then the damp, stale smell and the scratch of a rough wool blanket against his skin brought him back to himself.

He opened his eyes and saw that it was still day. The taper by the bed remained unlit, though the window was so small that room was quite dim even at the height of the afternoon. He turned his head and for a moment the room swam before his eyes, but when everything had righted itself, he saw that Matty was kneeling by the side of his bed, and a man he did not know was seated on the chair.

"Just a bleeding is all," Matty said when she saw he was awake. "Mr. Jones is very good, he is, and he'll have you on your feet soon enough."

He flinched when the lancet cut his skin and watched as the blood flowed freely into the basin Matty was holding.

"What happened?"

"You gave us such a fright. You was fainted like the dead on the floor, in the sitting room, and we couldn't hardly rouse you to get you to walk, even with vinegar, and we was afraid we'd have to get some of the men to carry you, but then you came 'round, and you managed to come down here on your own feet. You remember that?"

Bingley licked his lips. His mouth felt dry and gummy. "No."

"Well, you was very unsteady on your feet, but you walked down here and all but fell into bed. And the missus, she was in a fright crying about fevers and infections and the like, and started crying even more when she saw Miss Bennet, who looked very pale, but she, Miss Bennet I mean, said it was only from the fright of seeing you fall, though the missus made her go lay down in any case. So, and Mr. Bennet, he called for Mr. Jones--" She nodded to the man seated by the bed, who in turn nodded to Bingley. Bingley attempted to nod back, but moving his head made the room spin and his head ache even more. "Mr. Jones came, and examined you, and he told the missus it ain't an infectious fever, as far as he can tell, but only you'd been brought low, and he'd give you a bleeding and a drought, and you'll be well and all soon enough."

Matty continued talking, but Bingley drifted into the space between sleep and waking and when he became aware of the world again she was silent and Mr. Jones had two fingers pressed to his wrist and was frowning at his watch. He gave Bingley a small smile when he saw he was awake and said, "Your pulse is good, and I believe a few days rest will handle the rest. Take the drought when I've gone and try to sleep."

Bingley thanked him and said, "Your payment..."

Mr. Jones shook his head and Matty jumped in with, "Oh, don't you worry about none of that. Mr. Bennet always pays for bleedings and the like, if they're needed. You just get well and rested. Me and Tilly, we can handle the work, seems we're always going without a manservant around here, so we're used to it. And don't let Mrs. Hill put you back to work too soon. The missus is very particular about not having it said that the Bennets work their servants when they're sick, and she won't never put up with it. But if she sees you on your feet, she'll to scold you afore she'll scold Mrs. Hill."

During Matty's speech, Mr. Jones had left, and Matty went about straightening things through the room, chattering nervously the whole time.

"Jeb, he was particular worried about you, when he heard, and Tilly too. She wanted to come down here and hold the basin, even though she faints dead away at the sight of blood. She told me whenever she has to be bled, she faints just as soon as the lancet comes out." She took the basin out of the room and came back a few minutes later. She gave him the drought and though sitting upright seemed out of the question, he was determined to take it without Matty's help. He managed by rolling slightly and raising himself up on one arm. It was bitter and must have had laudanum, for it made him sleepy almost as soon as he had taken it. He settled back onto the bed, shivering slightly and wishing the room was warmer or the blankets thicker, but the chill was not enough to keep him from sleep.

He slept for a long time. When he woke again it was day, but he felt certain it was not the same day it had been. A soft knock at the door made him start and before he could speak, Matty stuck her head in.

"Are you awake then? Good. I have to tell you the best of news." She placed a bowl of watery gruel and some warm spiced ale on the table and Bingley managed to sit up and take the ale. It tasted nothing like the mulled ale he had at home when he was unwell. In that moment he wanted desperately to be at home. He wanted his own house, his own ale, and his own bed. He wanted a fire in his room. He wanted Frederick, his valet, who would have undressed him and put him in his nightshirt instead of leaving him to sleep in his clothing. He wanted Caroline, who read to him in a soft voice when he was ill, even if she did insist upon reading only things _she_ was interested in.

He managed to turn his thoughts back to Matty who had pulled the chair up to the side of the bed.

"You've been asleep for near a day. I stuck my head in earlier and you was dead to the world, your face all mushed into the pillow. Well, I have to tell you the best thing that happened earlier. Lord Ashbourne called again today, and brought his brother with him. I was in the room, and Miss Bennet, she happened to mention that you had fallen ill, which I thought a very odd thing for her to say, since when does the family care that one of us has gotten unwell? Though Miss Bennet would care, she cares for everyone, and has been asking after you, but I thought it odd she'd speak of it in company is all. But so it was, and it sent Mrs. Bennet off about her precious Meisner--"

"Meissen," Bingley corrected. "I broke it."

"Yes, right. And she was complaining about her precious statue and how she was so vexed it had been broken, but that her servant had gotten ill and fainted and knocked it down as he fell--" Bingley assumed that Miss Bennet was responsible for that story. "--and you'll never believe it, but Lord Ashbourne, the great Lord Ashbourne, with his 25,000 a year, said, 'Madam, I would be more concerned with your servant than your statue. How is Charles? He is well, I hope.' Can you believe it? Asked after you by name, and everything.

"Well, and, Miss Bennet, she said, 'He is very well, though he was rather feverish earlier. He claimed even to be _your_ friend.' And they all laughed at that, except Lord Ashbourne, who didn't say nothing at all."

Bingley sipped his ale and tried to make sense of it all. He remembered now having told Miss Bennet all, though he was fairly certain he had managed to keep secret his growing regard for her, and for that he was very grateful. Clearly, she had not told her father, or perhaps she had, and they had laughed it off, as they had laughed at it earlier.

His head hurt again, and he decided he should not be anxious about things he could not yet know. He finished his ale and managed to eat most of the gruel, which satisfied Matty, then fell back into slumber.

He had no trouble complying with Mr. Jones' direction, and slept much of the next two days, leaving his bed only for necessary business, and occasionally sitting up for a few minutes to attempt to read, but reading gave him a terrible headache in the dim light, and as he was only permitted one candle a month, he wished not to light it during the day. Matty came often, and told him the news. The Assembly in Meryton had come and gone, and Mrs. Bennet was in raptures because Lord Ashbourne had danced with Miss Bennet, though he had not danced with a single other lady at the assembly, and had spent the rest of the time standing around looking disagreeable.

"_And_ Colonel Fitzwilliam danced twice with Miss Bennet. I hear tell that he danced every other dance too, but Miss Bennet was the only one he danced with _twice_. The missus has spent the whole of the morning chattering about it, and will not let anyone forget that the brothers singled out her daughter above everyone. She is sure Miss Bennet is going to be a countess soon enough. Well, if anyone deserves such a thing, it is her, though from what I hear tell of Lord Ashbourne, I don't think he'd make a very agreeable husband."

By the end of the second day, he was well enough to be almost restless in his bed and when Mr. Jones came to check on his patient--he had been called not out of concern, but to insure that Bingley was not affecting his malady--he declared him fit to go back to work. Bingley would have preferred another day to recover, perhaps not in bed but without his normal duties, but he dared not argue.

That night he woke in the early hours, far before he even had to think of rising. He stared into the darkness and wondered at his ever having found himself in such a situation. A soft knock pulled him from such thoughts. Thinking it Matty, though uncertain why she would have come at such an hour, he called out for her to enter. The figure that appeared at the door, however, was not Matty, but Miss Bennet.

She stood at the door, lit like a heavenly vision by the single candle in her hand, wearing her dressing gown and slippers, her hair around her shoulders. For a moment, Bingley was certain he was dreaming, but his head still ached slightly and the wool blanket was still scratching his skin and he supposed that a dream would not have been so uncomfortable.

He pushed the blanket off of himself, mindless of the fact that he wore only his night shirt and stood.

"Miss Bennet."

She looked away and then seemed to come to a decision and stepped inside. "Mr. Bingley, sir."

"I--"

She held out a piece of paper, hastily folded. "This is from Lord Ashbourne."

He took the letter in his hands and lit the candle by the bed, but even the light of their two candles did not provide enough light for him to read comfortably, especially as the letter was written in quick, jagged lettering, and in pencil. He forced his eyes to focus anyway and read.

_Bingley,_

Knowing your temper as well as I do, I suspect I will have no trouble gaining your forgiveness for the mess I have brought you into. I think perhaps your lack of anger when you ought to be livid with rage will give legs to my guilt, and thus be its own form of punishment.

When I heard you were ill, it was my desire to rush to your room and take you back to Netherfield, but my brother has convinced me that his duty supersedes all, and it seems that we now are enlisted to satisfy his duty, with little choice to ourselves, and only scarce concern for her, though I am determined that she will not be left to suffer much longer, my brother and his precious duty be consigned to nothing.

To the point. I send this letter through Miss Bennet, with whom I was able to speak at the assembly tonight. My brother is less than pleased with you for telling her all you have, but she seems sensible, and my brother and I have managed between us (I suspect my brother was far more instrumental in this than I) to convince her of the need for secrecy and discretion. For myself, I am relieved for you that you now have another friend, and one even closer to you than I.

I must conclude, as I have stolen away a moment to write this letter so that I may find a way to put it in Miss Bennet's hands before the assembly is at an end. I hope you are well.

Yours most devoted and humble friend,  
Ashbourne

He folded the letter carefully and put it in the drawer.

"Thank you, Miss Bennet."

She was staring down at her feet. "Sir, I...I have never kept a secret of this magnitude before, and I keep so very little from my sister. I do not know how--"

"I have never kept anything of such import myself, and we see that I was able to botch things within hours of being told," Bingley said.

"You were ill, you can hardly be held accountable for that."

He shook his head. "Why did you tell no one? Why did you protect me?"

She finally raised her eyes, but she seemed unable to speak.

He wanted to wrap his hand around hers, but he was aware by then that he was only in his shirt and she only in her dressing gown. It would have been terribly inappropriate, though this whole situation was far from proper.

"I must go," Miss Bennet said. "If I were to be discovered..."

Bingley bowed and she managed a proper curtsy despite her attire. When she had gone, he closed the door and pressed his forehead against it. It was some time before he could rouse himself and return to bed.

*

The next few days passed quietly and quickly. Matty and Tilly took extra work on themselves to spare him when they could. On one such occasion, he watched as Matty's strong, small hands wiped down the furniture. He recalled a ball, one of so many he had attended in London that he could not single it out by name or any other distinguishing characteristic, where he had participated in a long, detailed conversation about the 'thick wrists' and 'masculine hands' of the women of the lower orders, and it had been decided, in that dogmatic, ridiculous voice that declared meaningless things in a crowded ball room, that no woman of the lower orders could pass herself off as a lady, because one would always know her by her hands.

Matty's hands would indeed have given her away in a ball room, but he thought now that she had as much reason to be proud of them as any young lady with a dainty wrist and delicate hand had to be proud of hers.

He said none of this, of course, only thanked Matty for her kindnesses to him and smiled to himself when he saw Jeb offer his arm to Tilly in such a ridiculous way that it would have made him blush for the man had not Tilly looked pleased and Jeb been completely unconscious that he would have been quizzed terrifically had any young man of the _ton_ seen him.

The next day he was in the kitchen helping Rose move a heavy table when Matty rushed in and said, "Oh bless me! We're to have a guest, he's to come in a few hours, and the master only saw fit to tell the missus this morning. Mrs. Hill is in a fright, for now we're to prepare a room with almost no notice. Upstairs with you, then. If she sees you down here, she'll scold you for sure."

Bingley was taken upstairs then to the guest room, and put to work preparing the room, which meant airing it, taking out the carpets to be beaten, changing the sheets, dusting all of the furniture, wiping down the walls, and a thousand other little tasks that seemed rather excessive, especially as he knew that the maids cleaned the guest rooms as a matter of course, even when they laid empty for months.

"Aye, the missus would have the room cleaned all over again, for all that me and Tilly did it just yesterday. It's Mr. Collins what is the visitor, and he is the man who will inherit Longbourn when the master dies. The missus is always talking about what a horrible man he is, and how he'll toss them into the hedgerows or some such when he, the master I mean, dies. They'll have five thousand pounds when the master dies, and I hear tell from my cousin, who works as a clerk, that that means they'll have two hundred and fifty pounds a year. As if anyone ever lived in the hedgerows with two hundred and fifty pounds a year. My mother raised six of us when my father was brining in, oh, bless me, I don't never knew how much he was brining in, but it weren't never two hundred and fifty pounds a year, and we lived well enough, and always had victuals on the table, and beds to sleep on."

Bingley was too distracted to respond to any of this, though he abhorred the thought of Miss Bennet being forced to make due with two hundred and fifty pounds a year for herself, her mother, and all her sisters.

Mr. Collins arrived that afternoon, and Bingley was the one to carry his trunks to his room. They were heavy, and Bingley wondered why he had packed so much for a visit that was not supposed to last more than two weeks.

It turned out the trunks were loaded with books, which Bingley knew only because Mr. Collins directed him to remove them all and place them on the writing table. Bingley, out of idle curiosity, looked over them as he did so and found them the sort of books that had taught him to despise most reading, namely, long dry sermons which spoke at length on the evils of every earthly pleasure, and books of dense Latin which seemed to exist only as a way to flatter those who spoke the language and aid them in looking down upon those who did not.

When he had done, Mr. Collins made a show of stopping him at the door, which was open.

"My noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, makes it a point to be exceedingly generous in her vails, and though I am unable to match her boundless kindness, I hope that I can imitate the spirit of it." Here he pressed into Bingley's hand a few pennies.

Bingley managed, with only some trouble, to express his gratitude. He passed Miss Bennet in the hall, who had heard all of it--he did not doubt that _that_ had been Mr. Collin's intention--and met her eyes. She seemed mortified, though on behalf of himself or her cousin, Bingley could not know. As Mr. Collins had closed his door and no one else was around, he whispered as he passed, "I have been thinking of buying a yacht, Miss Bennet. Do you think I shall manage it with Mr. Collin's generosity?"

That made her laugh softly. Bingley thought that he would have endured any mortification in the world, if only he could hear the sound of her laugh every day.


	9. Chapter 9

"It is all very vexing," Mrs. Bennet said to Mrs. Phillips the next morning. "Lord Ashbourne paid such particular attention to Jane at the assembly, and her brother danced two dances with her. Yet, there has been no encouragement since then, and then what do you suppose happened? Why, just this morning Mr. Collins spoke to me of his desire to wed one of the girls. And who do you suppose he is most interested in? Jane, of course. Well, if things were further along with Lord Ashbourne, I would certainly attempt to put him off, but things are so unsettled and I cannot be certain that things will progress in a suitable manner. I do not know that it would be wise to send Mr. Collins in the way of the other girls. Lizzy, perhaps, may do, or Mary, but Jane really would be ideal. Though she would be but a parson's wife for now, she would be the future mistress of Longbourn, and that would be a fine thing indeed. So I am quite at a loss as to how to proceed."

Bingley could not quite make out Mrs. Phillips words, muffled as they were through the door, but Mrs. Bennet's words were easily heard as clear as the day.

"That is quite brilliant, sister. Indeed, I wonder that I did not think of it. Oh, men do like a bit of challenge, don't they? I shall tell Mr. Collins that he may face, oh how will I put it? He may face a rival in the form of Lord Ashbourne. It will only increase his interest, you know, to think that Jane may be so highly prized. Should Lord Ashbourne happen to get wind of the fact that Jane has another eligible offer, it may spur him to take the matter seriously. But, if it does not, there will be Mr. Collins for Jane. And if Lord Ashbourne does pursue Jane, I am sure Mr. Collins will be obliging enough to transfer his affections to another. He cannot possibly be affronted by Jane's accepting so much more eligible an offer."

Bingley wondered how, if at all, her daughters' happiness factored into any of her plans.

The step of Mrs. Hill--a sound to which he had become very well attuned--spurred him to move from his place near the door.

Mr. Collins had been in the house one day, and Bingley had yet to find a single thing to either admire or like about him. As Mr. Jones had once bet Mr. Dunstan ten pounds that Bingley would not find anything to admire in the notoriously rude and unpopular Mr. Foss and _lost_\--the account of the bet was still recorded in the book at White's; Bingley had declared that Mr. Foss had excellent teeth when asked what he thought of the man after meeting him and Mr. Jones had paid--Bingley's inability to find anything to think well of said rather a lot about Mr. Collins.

Mrs. Bennet must have conversed with Mr. Collins at some point in the course of the day, for the next morning it became apparent that Mr. Collins had embarked on a campaign to woo his cousin, to Miss Bennet's mortification and Bingley's horror.

It began with a clumsy recital of Shakespeare's sonnet 130, in which he misquoted the first line, and though Bingley was called away before he could witness any more of Mr. Collin's attempts to make love to his cousin, he did not expect that the matter had improved as the day went on.

He met Miss Bennet by the stables, when she contrived that he should be the one to take her for a mid-day ride. Mr. Collins, fortunately, did not ride.

"I know he means well," Miss Bennet said. "I appreciate what he wishes to do. It is only..."

It was only that the man was a fool and for him to possess a woman such as Miss Bennet would be to give gold to a goat, but he dared not say that to her.

"For myself, I have always preferred, 'When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes'..."

She had stopped her horse and was staring at him. Bingley blushed.

"I am not a great scholar, I confess, and much of what the Bard wrote has flown right past me utterly unappreciated. Yet, I have always liked that one. It seems more honest and less satirical than--"

"'My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun'," Miss Bennet said.

"Or, as Mr. Collins would have it, 'My mistress eyes are like the sun', which rather defeats the entire point of the poem, I believe."

Miss Bennet pressed her lips together and shook with silent laughter.

"But I had to bribe my way through some of my classes at Oxford, so I really am not fit to be making such statements."

She sighed. "He is a good man, and he wants to do what is right. When it comes to it, I do not know what I will do." She shook her head. "Forgive me, I ought not to be speaking to you of such things."

The thought that she might actually accept the man sent a chill through him, but before he could speak, she turned them back toward the house, and something in her manner gave him pause, and made him think that she might not wish to hear his thoughts just then.

*

He went into Meryton for sugar that afternoon, and though he saw Colonel Fitzwilliam, and once passed close by him, the man did not speak or acknowledge him in any way. It was not until he arrived home that he found the note in his pocket.

It was a scrap of paper containing only a few words: "Netherfield tonight." Then, underneath, in smaller, less neatly written letters, added seemingly as an afterthought. "Burn this."

At first opportunity, he went to his room and got Ashbourne's letter as well, and tossed them both into the first unattended fire he came to, biting down upon his thumbnail as he watched them burn to nothing.

*

He slipped from the house again that night. Jeb was somewhat less enthusiastic about his leaving.

"You sure about this? It didn't exactly turn out well for you last time?"

Bingley shook his head. "I will not be gone long tonight."

"It's only that Tilly likes you, that's all. She'd be sad if you were to die."

"I am entirely better," Bingley assured him. "And good company tonight will do me a world of good."

Jeb shrugged, letting him go with no more objections. Bingley made it to Netherfield in good time. He slipped in the front where Fitzwilliam was waiting for him, and was soon again in front of the fire, though determined to watch his brandy consumption.

His evening began with Colonel Fitzwilliam being very severe with him on the subject of Miss Bennet, to such an extent that, when he had finished, Bingley had concluded, 'my brother is less than pleased with you for telling her all you have' actually meant, 'my brother wishes very much that you were a private under his command so that he could have you flogged'.

"I beg your pardon for confiding in her, but as I was feverish at the time, I think perhaps I can be excused," Bingley said.

Fitzwilliam's expression seemed to say that he could not be excused. He said nothing, however, only handed Bingley a packet of papers, stamped and sealed, and Bingley tucked it into his pocket.

"This is all, then?"

"That is all," Fitzwilliam said. "Do you think you will have any trouble?"

Bingley shook his head.

"Do you have any questions?"

Bingley shook his head again.

"Very good," Fitzwilliam said.

There was little else to be discussed, and though the comfortable chair and the warm fire kept him in his place a moment longer, he wished to be out of the room.

He shifted, uncomfortable, and was about to excuse himself from the room when Fitzwilliam abruptly stood and wished them a curt good night. Bingley glanced at Ashbourne, who was staring into the fire wearing his most miserable expression.

"You must excuse my brother," Ashbourne said absently. "His mood was foul before you even arrived."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bingley asked quietly, mindful that he was not supposed to be in the house at all and that it would be very bad for all of them--and apparently for England as a whole, though Bingley had yet to allow his mind to dwell for very long on the thought of such responsibility resting upon his shoulders--if he was to be caught by a servant.

"He accused me of being like my father," Ashbourne said.

That was a heavy accusation.

"We had a terrible argument, and he--I have never told you how my brother and I became estranged. You know--that is, you must know--surely you know that our parents are..."

"Divorced," Bingley offered. "Yes, I know it." Ashbourne had never spoken of it to him before, but the matter was well known in London society.

"I was fourteen when it happened, my brother was twelve, my sister was no more than six. It was hard, it was very hard, on all of us. The day my mother left, my father insisted we stay upstairs. We were not permitted to say goodbye, and we were permitted no contact with her after she had gone. Everything we knew of her was from the scandal pages. My father never spoke of her. My aunts, Lady Catherine, Lady Anne, they spoke of her at times, and they were kind enough to never denigrate her too severely, not in front of us, but it was clear they bore her a great deal of ill will."

He had not taken his eyes from the fire and they shone brightly.

"You must understand that we children were always closer to my mother than to my father. She was, is, a very affectionate person. She cared for us. She loved us. I do not know if my father is even capable of love. If he is, he cannot show it. That she found affection in the arms of another man was very wrong, but I cannot entirely...that is...she sinned grievously, but my father drove her to it. Why is she condemned and he is not?"

Bingley stared at him in shock. Ashbourne was one of the most religious men he knew, to hear him say such a thing, to even slightly mitigate the sin of adultery...

Ashbourne shook his head. "I have always had a great deal of trouble speaking to my father." He laughed. "He terrifies me, in fact, I do not deny it. It is easier for Richard; he does not...fear the man like I do. When my brother came of age, the very day, he went to see my mother. He may have done so earlier, but he was not open about it. Mary, of course, chastised him for it. Mary will never see her, declares that our mother will go to her grave without speaking to her daughter. My father was severe with him, but my father has long known that Richard will not bend to his will."

He fell silent. Bingley waited, then finally prompted him, "And you?"

"I admired him for it, but I could not imitate him, as much as I wished to. I was too afraid of my father. I heard the argument they had following his visit, I heard the things my father said about Richard, and I...I am such a coward. I could not face the same." He drew a shuddering breath. "Our mother then fell very ill, and it was considered a certain thing that she would not survive. She asked for me. She asked for all of her children, but Richard tells me her cries for me were the most desperate, the most intense. He came to our house and begged me to see her. I would not go." He fell forward and buried his face in his hands. When he had recovered himself, he continued, "I am a wretched coward, but I would not go to her. She survived, to the great shock of all of her doctors, but that matters not. What matters is that I had every reason to believe her dying and I would not go to her. I am told that since then, she has not asked about me once."

He fell silent again, but shifted in his chair, agitated.

"Can you not go to her now? You have been given this second chance."

"How can I face her now?" Ashbourne sighed. "And in truth, my father still controls my purse. Richard has his own income. How shall I live if my father cuts my allowance to nothing? He is in very good health, you know. He may live a decade more. Should I get a small cottage and sit around waiting for him to die?"

Bingley shrugged. "My guest rooms are comfortable enough."

Ashbourne laughed. "A kind offer, but I do not think even your temper could endure such a thing."

They sat watching the fire. Bingley very carefully failed to notice when Ashbourne took his handkerchief from his pocket and swiped at his eyes.

"What if he is right?"

Bingley started. "Who? About what?"

"Richard accused me of being like our father. He said that Miss Audley, that is Miss Cunningham...Sophia. He said that Sophia would be better off without me, that I would treat her as our father did our mother."

"No," Bingley said. "You are a difficult man to know, I will not deny that, but you are not without affection. Do you love her?"

"Yes. But I have not been in the same room with her in years. It has all been letters, and letters are so much easier. One cannot have a marriage carried on by letter."

"It would make the production of children somewhat more difficult," Bingley agreed.

Instead of laughing, as Bingley had intended for him to do, Ashbourne looked at him in horror. "How am I ever going to consummate the marriage?"

Bingley stared at him. "If that is a question of mechanics, I am leaving."

Ashbourne rested his forehead on his hand and Bingley indulged himself in a huge sigh before pulling his chair closer to the fire and casting a longing glance at the brandy. He was willing to give up the rest of his night talking Ashbourne down from his anxieties, he only wished that it was not necessary to do it sober.

*

He returned to Longbourn in time to return to his room and sleep for nearly four hours, which he had learned to be grateful for.

In the morning, he rose and tucked the packet of papers under his mattress. His limbs had the dull ache of too little sleep, and his mind was not entirely clear. He and Ashbourne had talked long into the night, and though Ashbourne had seemed easier at the end of it, Bingley found that his own anxieties had been pulled closer to the surface by their conversation. He would not risk attempting anything of importance today.

Matty cast him worried glances at breakfast. Bingley did his best to seem himself, eating a hearty breakfast and chatting amiably with everyone. Mrs. Hill gave him particularly unkind looks and Bingley ran through the last few days, trying to think when and how he had offended her, but he could recall nothing amiss in his conduct.

That afternoon, he was abruptly called into a sitting room where Miss Bennet, Mr. Collins, and Miss Mary sat talking.

Mr. Collins cleared his throat. "Charles, my cousin Mary tells me that you are able to read."

He stood in front of them. Mr. Collins and Miss Mary regarded him almost like a curiosity. Miss Bennet was bent over her work, and did not raise her eyes.

"I am, sir," Bingley said.

Mr. Collins turned to Miss Mary. "Lady Catherine is very concerned with the increase in literacy among the lower orders. I have had a great many conversations with her on the matter. She has spoken many times of setting up a charitable school, for instance, yet she says, and I wholeheartedly agree, that the emphasis of such a place must be on teaching the children to say their prayers, and to do things which are useful, practical."

Miss Mary frowned, a perfect little crease appearing between her eyes. "But surely it is better that they be able to read their Bible. There are works of great moral value, Fordyce, for example, which could be of great value to the lower orders."

Mr. Collins smiled. "You show yourself to be a generous and kind young lady, cousin, yet because you yourself are so very innocent in the ways of the world, you think only the best. You must understand that to read is to be exposed to a great many ideas, and those without the proper breeding and education to make sense of those ideas can very easily be led astray. What do you read, Charles?"

"Plays, mostly," Bingley said.

"The theater. I see. Do you read novels?"

"At times. I am not a great reader."

"Dare I hope that when you do read you choose things that are of a good quality? Have you read _Pamela_?"

"Parts of it," Bingley said. Largely because _Shamela_ was more diverting if one knew something of the original it was parodying.

"_Clarissa_?"

"No."

"What have you read?"

"_Tristram Shandy_. And I am very fond of Mr. Fielding."

Miss Mary gasped.

"You have not read _Tom Jones_, I hope," Mr. Collins said.

"Only twice," Bingley said, and Miss Mary shook her head sadly. Bingley just barely refrained from shrugging his shoulders. He was sure his chastity owed more to _Tom Jones_ than any sermon he had ever heard.

"Do you ever read your Bible?"

Bingley frowned. Though he had no objection to general discussions of theology, he had always considered his personal faith to be a private matter and he was not about to have it bandied about in a sitting room by a pompous parson as a teaching example for a moralizing young lady.

"Yes, sir," Bingley said, trying and perhaps failing to keep his annoyance from his voice.

"And books of sermons, have you any appreciation of them?"

"Rarely," Bingley said. Ashbourne had put several collections into his hands, but he had read little of them.

Mr. Collins turned back to Miss Mary. "You see, cousin, what results. Though he has the ability to read, he has not been taught to use it wisely. Moreover, as Lady Catherine de Bourgh has often pointed out, the ability may, in some, lead to a certain dissatisfaction with their position. Thoughts above one's station are very dangerous. We see what happened in France."

Bingley had to bite down hard on his cheek to stop himself from asking how many people in the crowd cheering the beheading of the French queen had been able to read.

"Cousin Jane, surely you can agree that the lower orders are done a disservice in this way."

Miss Bennet looked up and met his eyes. Bingley shook his head, almost imperceptibly. She opened her mouth to speak, but was saved from having to actually say anything by Mr. Collins, who proclaimed, "Well, of course you do, dear cousin. Lady Catherine would be vastly pleased with you. Vastly pleased."

Bingley managed to excuse himself then, before he lost control of his tongue.

Miss Bennet met him later out of doors.

"Please forgive my cousin, sir, he is..."

"Do not trouble yourself, Miss Bennet," Bingley said quickly, to save her from having to think of some way to excuse her cousin's behavior. Surely she was not still thinking of accepting him? She could not intend to spend her life following behind him, making excuses for his behavior and blushing every time he opened his mouth.

"My father is very fond of _Tom Jones_, though I dared not say anything in front of Mr. Collins. For myself, I have not read it. I have heard such scandalous things about it and I would not like to be thought indelicate."

Bingley wanted to tell her to read it anyway, but that was selfishness. She did risk being thought indelicate if she read such a book, and he only wanted her to read it because he wanted to share it with her. He wanted her to enjoy it as much as he did. It was a silly thought.

"I have been meaning to read _Amelia_, but have yet to find the time. I think most of Mr. Fielding's works worth reading, and _Amelia_, I understand, is not so scandalous."

"Did you enjoy what you read of _Pamela_? 'tis my favorite book."

"Indeed! You did not find it--" Hypocritical? Trite? Overwrought? Dull as the grave? "--difficult to read?"

"No, not at all. I enjoyed it very much, and _Clarissa_ as well."

"I confess I have never cared for Mr. Richardson. Have you read _Tristram Shandy_?"

"A few pages of it."

"It is my favorite of books."

"You did not find it...exceptionally strange?"

"I thought it refreshingly different."

"Indeed." She laughed softly. "_Much Ado About Nothing_ is the best of plays."

"It is!"

She smiled, but her smile faded too quickly.

"Good day, M--Charles."

"Good day, Miss Bennet."

After she'd gone he caught himself thinking that perhaps he should attempt again to read _Pamela_. It was then that he realized he was a lost man.

*

The next morning Mr. Ridgeway was away surveying the estate, and Mrs. Hill was busy reviewing the accounts with Mrs. Bennet. Most of the young ladies were away. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth had gone for a walk, Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia had gone to Meryton, and Miss Mary was at her books. Bingley seized his chance. He slipped into Mr. Ridgeway's office, leaving the door open a crack so that he could hear into the hall.

His heart beat wildly in his chest and his stomach ached from anxiety. If he were to be caught...

He forced that thought away and his mind to the task at hand.

Fitzwilliam had been unable to tell him where to look. All he had been able to do was give him advice. He had told him ways in which desks and chairs and cabinets had been modified to contain secret compartments. He told him to think creatively, He told him not to overlook the obvious. He told him that above all he must do his very thorough, very complete search quickly, quietly, and without leaving any trace of his presence.

Oh, and he mustn't allow himself to become anxious lest he make a mistake.

He tried the desk first, sorting through papers, and in drawers. The office was very neat, and the drawers were mostly empty. He ran his hand along the bottom of them, under the desk, over chair spindles, looking for concealed latches.

He looked through the papers on the desk, in between the books on the shelves. He looked under chairs and behind pictures and on top of the cabinet.

There was a wing chair in the corner. He lifted up the cushion and saw a red cord peeking out from the back of the chair. He pulled it and a packet, stamped and sealed slid out from a hidden space between the very back of the chair and the padding.

He removed from his pocket the packet Fitzwilliam had given him and looked at them. It was perfectly identical, but for a small crease in the original. Bingley carefully bent the one Fitzwilliam had given him until they looked perfectly the same. Then, being very careful not to mix them up, he removed the string from the original and tucked it into his pocket, replacing it with the packet from Colonel Fitzwilliam, tucked it back into that hidden space, and replaced the cushion to the chair. He glanced around the room, checking that nothing seemed amiss, then slipped out of the office, and closed the door softly.

As he walked away, his hands trembling and his mouth dry, he thought he saw a shadow move out of the corner of his eye. When he looked, there was no one.

Bingley shook his head. _He_ would be skipping to Bedlam before this was all over.


	10. Chapter 10

Though Bingley knew that he was in no more danger carrying the original set of documents than he had been carrying the forgery, the packet felt like a heavy weight in his pocket. He was aware of it with every step, and desperate to rid himself of it, but he had no chance to return to his room until late that evening.

He placed it under his mattress, thinking of how well concealed it had been in Mr. Ridgeway's office, and wary of the insecurity of such an obvious hiding place. After several minutes thought yielded no ideas for another location in the sparsely furnished room, he resigned himself to it. If things went as planned, he would not be responsible for it for very long.

Bingley refused to think of how few things had gone according to plan thus far.

He slept surprisingly well that night, and was early to the breakfast table. Mrs. Hill was still giving him cross looks, but Bingley was determined to ignore her. He saw the end of all of this in sight, and it seemed little could spoil his mood that morning.

Jane Bennet was on his mind all day.

He loved her.

Well, he had fallen in love with a few women in his life. He liked women. Most of the young ladies he had met impressed him in some way or another. It did not require a great deal to catch his attention, _that_ he would freely admit. He had fallen in love with a sweet smile, a soft laugh, a graceful walk, a kind manner, and a gentle temper. It was only that he had never fallen in love with all of those things in the same woman.

He wanted her to be his wife.

That was something very different. He had only wanted to marry one woman before Miss Bennet. Since then, he had rarely thought of marriage, and it had been only a far away thing, something to be contemplated for a vague future time. He had pictured a wife for himself, children, but it had never been more than a fanciful daydream to fill a dull carriage ride.

Miss Bennet was something far more than that.

Now every thought of matrimony that entered his head had her at its core. The thought of wife and the thought of Jane Bennet had become one and the same. He could not imagine himself with anyone else.

That he had met her under such circumstances!

He pushed that thought away. He did not even know her feelings. He thought she had, sometimes, shown regard for him, but he could not read her as he would have liked. Her mind and thoughts were entirely her own. He would have given his entire fortune to know the secrets there.

Well, perhaps not his entire fortune.

They'd never let him marry Miss Bennet without it.

And he really did despise working.

He passed her in the hall that evening, and she gave him a small smile that made him feel like he was floating. He wanted to stop her and engage her in conversation, but before he could even begin to tell himself why that was an unwise idea, Mr. Collins came and insisted she be his partner at whist.

*

The next day was Sunday. Matty had invited him each Sunday to take a meal at her house, insisting her family would be glad to have him. He had declined each invitation for reasons both just and selfish. He felt amiss taking hospitality from those who could ill afford to extend it, and, though he had become rather fond of Matty, he could not imagine a pleasant evening spent in the company of her family.

She was so pressing this day, however, that Bingley saw no way to decline without seeming rude, and after the Bible reading, he found himself walking toward Netherfield. His destination was not the large house with its fine furniture and well-appointed parlors, but a small home with a thatched roof and only three rooms. There was a garden in the back and a few chickens in the yard. The house had a shabby, unkempt appearance, but it was not dilapidated.

A young boy of perhaps six greeted him at the door, and three more boys sat inside. One, clearly the eldest, upon a stool, and the other two on the floor by the fire. The house was sparsely furnished, and some things looked much worn, but it was surprisingly neat. Matty had run ahead of him after he had accepted her invitation, and she must have told her mother there would be company, because the three younger boys wore the look of children everywhere who had recently been forced to wash against their will, and Mrs. Evans had the nervous, bustling look of a woman eager to show her home to best effect.

He smiled and bowed, and was taken aback when Mrs. Evans came forward to shake hands with him. She was a small woman of middle years, with hair more gray than brown tucked up under a simple cap. Her cheeks were slightly sunken from the loss of too many teeth. She greeted him with a soft "welcome."

Bingley made the appropriate greetings and comments. There was one large main room, with a fire and a sitting area and a table. A door to one side led off presumably to the bedrooms. Bingley was invited to be seated on a wooden chair by the fire. He glanced around, attempting to think of something to say.

The boys eyed him with expressions ranging from boredom to annoyance. Likely they held him responsible for their unwelcome appointment with a basin of cold water.

Mr. Evans sat close by the fire. He appeared some years older than his wife, and wore a beard that was not well trimmed. He was missing two fingers on his left hand. He greeted Bingley with a nod and returned his attention to the fire.

Bingley looked at the picture over the fire. It was a cheap print, poorly framed. There was little else of decoration in the house, but he looked around anyway, trying to think of a topic to raise. At the servants table at Longbourn he had been able to fall back on the work of the day as a subject of conversation, but here he was uncertain. Years of making himself agreeable in sitting rooms and clubs did not seem to be of use now. He doubted anyone here cared to discuss the recent performances at Drury Lane.

Matty was oddly quiet, helping her mother set the table and putting out the food.

Mr. Evans paid him very little mind on any account. The boys were soon tired of sitting politely, and began squabbling and fighting with each other. Bingley had never attended a dinner where the children were anything more than an after-dinner entertainment and was uncertain how to react, but as no one else seemed to notice them, neither did he.

The eldest boy, Philip, appeared to be about fourteen, which Bingley assumed to be an age of some rationality, but he seemed determined to behave as his father, staring into the fire and ignoring the world around him. Bingley made a few polite remarks, and was met with short answers. He soon gave up the cause entirely. Philip seemed only sullen, and determined to be disagreeable. In Mr. Evans, however, there was a certain weariness which made his reluctance to speak seem less ill-natured than his son's. Bingley looked at his slumped shoulders and tired eyes and felt guilty for intruding on the man when he very likely only wanted to be alone with his family on his one day of rest.

Two of the younger boys wrestled and fought until Mrs. Evans came forward and grabbed each one by the arm. "Quiet with you, or I'll switch you 'till you bleed!" she hissed fiercely, then looked at Bingley with an apologetic smile.

Bingley glanced at Matty, who was blushing terribly. The boys fells silent for a time, and then began to poke at each other again, but before it could escalate, they were thankfully seated at dinner. To use the vulgar phrase, it was not a spread such as would take the wrinkles out of one's belly, but Bingley was determined to be grateful for it.

He was invited by Mrs. Evans to say a prayer before the meal which, judging by the groan of one of the younger boys, was not the common practice of the house.

"Matty has told me about you," Mrs. Evans said when they had begun to eat. That drew a snort from Philip, but he only continued to shovel food into his mouth. "She says you've had learning."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. My uncle was a curate. He taught me to read and write, and even some Latin."

"Say something in Latin," Sam, one of the younger boys, demanded.

"Omnia praesumuntur legitime facta donec probetur in contrarium."

"What does that mean?" the youngest of them, John, asked.

"All things are presumed to be lawfully done until proven to be the reverse. Id est, I am innocent unless you can prove that I am not. I believe my uncle rued the day he taught me that phrase."

Matty laughed, and even the younger boys looked impressed.

"Omnia praesumtun...say it again."

"Omnia praesumuntur--"

"None of that," Mr. Evans said, not loudly, but with a force that quieted the table.

Bingley cleared his throat. "Quite right. 'tis a dangerous phrase in the hands of a boy. Mrs. Evans should be hearing it all the time when she discovered muddy tracks across her floor."

Matty gave him a grateful smile, but Mr. Evans chose not to let the matter drop.

"My boys won't never speak like them that think a little learning gives 'em the right to look down on honest folk. A man knows how to use his hands, that's all he needs to know."

"Nah. He needs to know how to use his arbor vitae too," Philip said. He laughed. "See, I knows a little Latin my own self."

Bingley looked at the women, but they appeared not to have caught the meaning, or were too accustomed to such vulgarity to react to it. Mr. Evans gave his son a cross look, but said nothing.

The subject was changed to the weather, then to local gossip. The conversation was carried on mainly between Matty and her mother, with Bingley participating when he could. He could not but marvel at how restrained Matty was among her family.

"Aye," Matty said. "The missus has a mind to marry Miss Bennet to Mr. Collins, and she's a fair chance at it, I suppose. I ain't never known Miss Bennet to do nothing to make the missus upset. I suppose the master would smile on the match too."

Bingley stared at his plate. The supremely unwelcome image of Miss Bennet at the altar with Mr. Collins came unbidden to his mind. So distracted was he, that he lost the track of the conversation until he heard Mr. Evans say, "Stop your jabbering girl. You chatter like a magpie."

Bingley looked at Matty. She was staring down at her hands, her face quite red.

"Ah, quit your blushing," Philip said, heedless of the food in his mouth. "It don't suit to put on such airs." He looked at Bingley. "She wouldn't never care but for you're here. She 'as a fancy for you."

"She's in love," Sam said, following the lead of brother. "I caught her telling mother all about you. She thinks your the handsomest man she's ever met."

Matty raised her eyes to him for just a moment. They shone brightly. He thought he saw her mother take her hand under the table. Mr. Evans did not appear to be paying attention, and was only rubbing his forehead with his hand. He seemed almost too exhausted to eat, much less pay more than occasional attention to his family.

"That is quite the compliment," Bingley said. "Especially as Matty has spent so much time in the estimable company of Mr. Collins. I am surprised that with such a specimen of the male sex in front of her daily, she even thinks of me."

No one at the table but Matty and Bingley could understand the joke, but Bingley laughed and Mrs. Evans followed his lead. Even Mr. Evans was troubled to snort. Matty did her best to laugh with them. Bingley managed to raise the subject of politics, which somehow led to a mention of the Navy, and as Sam had a great desire to go to sea, the remainder of dinner was taken up with the topic.

Fortunately he was not made to stay long after dinner. Mrs. Evans raised the idea of cards, but neither Mr. Evans nor any of the boys could abide the idea of playing, and Matty seemed worn out and would not meet his eye.

As he prepared to leave, Bingley said to Matty, "The lanes are dark, and I am not certain I know my way. Perhaps you would come out with me and direct me on which is the way to Longbourn?"

She walked out with him. When they had gotten a little ways from the house, he turned to her.

"I want you to know that you need not feel anxious or awkward around me. I do not share your feelings, but I hope we can still be friends." He held out his hand.

She took it after a pause, and pressed it gratefully. "I'm so very sorry, it ain't like I meant for that to be said. I could have killed Philip where he sat. If I'd thought in a thousand years he would have done something like that, I never would've asked you to come."

"You need not apologize. No young woman should have her heart so cruelly exposed."

It was dark, and the moon was little more than a sliver, but he thought he saw a tear on her cheek. "Thank you."

He pressed her hand, and left her. When he saw her at breakfast the next morning, she blushed and stammered a bit, but when Jeb put his hand on Tilly's shoulder during breakfast, Matty gave him a significant look, and was soon very much like herself again.

*

He came across Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth that morning. They were seated close by one another while Miss Elizabeth played the pianoforte and Miss Bennet turned the pages. He caught himself staring at her, examining the curl of her hair and the way her fichu lay upon her shoulders. He tried to catch her eye as he left the room, but she did not turn her attention to him. He was as likely as not going to have his own heart broken soon. There was a certain irony in that, given his conversation with Matty the night before.

He had watch of the house that night, and he wandered through it, soft on his feet. It occurred to him as he moved through the silence that he could have waited until such a night to search Mr. Ridgeway's office, but the thought of searching it by candlelight assured him that he had chosen correctly.

He wanted that packet out of his hands. He wanted done with this.

When he was freed of his duty, he slept for several hours, then walked to Meryton, the papers in his pocket. Fitzwilliam had said he would try to be in Meryton each afternoon, but Bingley saw him nowhere. He did see three of the Misses Bennet--Miss Kitty, Miss Lydia, and Miss Elizabeth--speaking to two militia officers, but he could only nod to them as he passed. Miss Elizabeth was the only one who took notice of him and inclined her head.

He wandered through town idly. He had brought some money with him, but there was little he was inclined to buy. Ducking into the tavern for a drink and a meal was tempting, but might have meant missing Fitzwilliam if he came, and he could not risk that.

He felt the now too-familiar grip of anxiety when he saw them. Mr. Gallagher was walking with a man of average build and average height. He was blandly handsome and well dressed, but not ostentatiously so. He looked the model of a country gentleman, not the picture of a future marquess. Bingley knew that Lord Walden was also exceptionally intelligent and very charming, but that was not something that was obvious on first glance. Bingley turned away as soon as he saw him, and could only pray that he had not been seen. Lord Walden was known to Bingley mainly by what Ashbourne and Fitzwilliam had told him, but they had been in company at balls and the theater in London, and though they had never been formally introduced, he could not trust that Lord Walden would not remember him.

He slipped into the tavern, where the two militia officers he had seen with the Miss Bennets were seated, talking animatedly over their beers. He managed to get himself a seat by the window, but not in front of it, so that he could see but, he hoped, not be seen.

Lord Walden was speaking with Mr. Gallagher when Fitzwilliam arrived in town. He noted with interest that Lord Walden's reaction to Fitzwilliam was much the same as Bingley's reaction had been to Lord Walden. He ducked his head and turned away, clearly not wishing to be recognized. Bingley could not tell whether Fitzwilliam had seen Lord Walden. He continued to walk, stopping occasionally to look into stores, seemingly without a care or thought, but Bingley knew how well Fitzwilliam could affect an air of unconcern. He did not trust anything at this point.

"They are pretty enough," one of the militia officers was saying behind him.

"Come now, Wickham, they're prime articles, especially the youngest."

"I am partial to the elder. Though she has not quite the catching figure of her sister, I defy you to say the younger is more handsome of face. Also, the elder has spirit. Never underestimate spirit, Denny. I cannot abide a woman without it."

Miss Bennet was not what one would call spirited. She was calm and gentle, with a sweet manner, and she always spoke to soothe, never to provoke. Bingley thought he could abide that perfectly well.

Denny laughed. "I suppose you will attempt to woo her by telling her your sad tale of woe."

"Would that it were but a sad tale," Wickham said seriously. "You know not how frustrating it can be to meet such women and know that I cannot form any serious regard for them. I ought to be free to marry as I wish, not forced into seeing women through the lens of their dowry."

"You have been terribly ill-used, Wickham, but you ought not to allow it to make you so low. Come, let me buy you another beer."

"You are too good, my friend," Wickham said, and ordered another beer and a plate of cold meat.

By the time Bingley dared to leave the tavern, Fitzwilliam, Mr. Gallagher, and Lord Walden had all gone. He returned to Longbourn by a very circuitous path, and though he tried to think only of Lord Walden, and whether he had been seen, and what he must do about it if he had, his mind was taken up with Jane Bennet.

There were matters to consider. The entail gave him pause. Very little pause, to be sure, but supporting five women--he had seen enough of Mr. Collins's character to know that the man would do little of any real use to his cousins while congratulating himself on his generosity--was not a matter to be dismissed out of hand. Still, Mr. Bennet could live many years more, and he did not doubt that most of the girls had fair prospects of making good matches, especially if he brought them to London for a season or two.

His sisters would no doubt scorn the match. Connections in trade! Brother, what are you thinking? They had long hoped that his connection to Ashbourne would lead to a brilliant match, perhaps even with Ashbourne's sister Lady Mary. Had his mind not been weighed down with so many anxieties, he would have laughed at the irony.

Yet, all of those concerns mattered not, if Jane would not even accept him, or if she accepted her cousin before he even had a chance to present his suit.

That he had met her under such circumstances!

His mind went round and round with possibilities, but settled on nothing. He finally returned to Longbourn in time for supper, and retired to his room shortly after. He expected to sleep little that night, but so exhausted was he from the intrigues and anxieties, that he was asleep nearly as soon as his head touched the pillow.


	11. Chapter 11

He was unable to leave Longbourn the next day, or the day after, but as he was informed that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Ashbourne would attend a gathering at Longbourn on Thursday night, he supposed it mattered little. Indeed, it hardly signified but for the terror that gripped him stronger with each additional minute he held those papers.

"Do you think I should get down on one knee? I had thought to get down on one knee, but if she don't say yes, then I'm on my knee like a fool."

Bingley shook his head and turned to Jeb. "I cannot say."

"This is going to be awful, I know it. She won't never accept me. I'm a fool anyway."

"Most people are, when they are in love."

Jeb leaned against the side of the stables and stared up at the overcast autumn sky. There was a chill in the air again today. Bingley had fortunately remembered his gloves, though the wind that kicked up his hair seemed to cut through them.

"Charles!"

Bingley jumped. Mrs. Hill was harder to hear coming on the soft ground than on the hard floors in the house.

"Ma'am. I was only--"

"Mr. Bennet would see you in his study," she said. Something in her manner gave him pause. She seemed almost pleased to send him to Mr. Bennet, which could not possibly bode well for him.

The door to Mr. Bennet's study was slightly open, and he could hear inside Mr. Gallagher's voice. "--am very sorry to trouble you. I do hope that I am wrong."

Bingley knocked softly on the frame of the door and was admitted. Mr. Bennet sat behind his desk, looking very grave.

"Close the door, Charles."

Bingley did, and stood before them both, his hands at his sides. He forced his fists to unclench.

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat. "Mr. Gallagher has discovered something missing from his house. A silver dish. He says that he has questioned all of his own servants, and searched his house, and been unable to find it. He further says that it was last seen the day you visited his house. What have you to say?"

"Am I being accused of something, sir?"

"You are being questioned," Mr. Bennet said. "That is all."

"If that is all then I will say that I have no recollection of any such dish. I took very little notice of Mr. Gallagher's house while I was there. I was only ever in the kitchen, in fact."

"What do you recall from that day?"

"I delivered the pheasants as instructed. I met Nell, Miss Cunningham's maid, who was known to me previously, and we spoke for a time."

"Have you been to his house since? Have you met with anyone from his house?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Bennet leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk and lacing his fingers, tapping his thumbs together as he thought. "I believe you. However, Mr. Gallagher says that one of his servants claims to have seen you briefly leave the kitchen, and has asked that your room be searched. I am inclined to allow the search. What say you to that?"

Bingley's heart beat wildly in his chest. For a moment he feared he would not be able to speak at all. If he refused, it would certainly be taken as an admission of guilt, and the room would be searched in any case. "I...I have nothing in my room that could possibly be of interest to anyone. If you would care to search it, you may."

He was allowed to be present while Mr. Ridgeway searched the room. He up sent a wild, frantic, desperate prayer that the papers would somehow fail to be discovered while he cursed himself for leaving them in his room instead of keeping it on his person. Mr. Ridgeway walked straight to the table by the bed and pulled out the drawer. He frowned deeply and seemed almost flustered when he saw what was there.

He took out Bingley's shaving kit. "This is very nice. Where did you get it?"

"A gift, sir, from my former employer."

"An unusually kind gift."

"He was nearly attacked by a rabid dog. I managed to shoot the beast before it could get to him. He was very grateful." That was in fact true, though Edgeworth had given him nothing in exchange for his help, and had only toasted him at dinner that night.

Mr. Ridgeway tore the room apart then, checking behind the pictures, under the chair and table. There were very few places that something could be hidden in the sparse room, as Bingley well knew. He tossed the blankets from the bed, and checked under the pillow. Finally, inevitably, he lifted the mattress and Bingley froze, cold sweat breaking out on his neck.

Mr. Ridgeway let the mattress drop. "Nothing."

Bingley managed not to say anything, but his mind spun frantically.

Mr. Ridgeway crossed to him. "Give me your coat."

Bingley took it off and watched while he searched the pockets. When he removed Miss Bennet's handkerchief, Mr. Bennet frowned.

"Why is my daughter's handkerchief in your pocket?"

"She gave it to me when I...hurt myself. I got blood on it and the blood would not come out. She allowed me to keep it."

Mr. Bennet shook his head and pocketed it. "She ought not to have done that."

Mr. Ridgeway was still holding his coat, but Mr. Bennet called an end to the matter before he could be asked to take off anything else, and Mr. Ridgeway thrust the garment back at him almost angrily.

"I trust you are satisfied," Mr. Bennet said to Mr. Gallagher.

Mr. Gallagher seemed somewhat confused, but only nodded and made some apologies to Mr. Bennet and to Bingley.

"May I have a few minutes to put my room back together?" Bingley asked and Mr. Bennet gave the permission.

When they had gone, Bingley sat down heavily onto the bed. His hands were shaking and he wanted to vomit. He moved mechanically while he put his room together and went through the rest of the day miserable with anxiety. He skipped supper altogether.

When he went down to his room, he saw the papers waiting for him on the pillow.

He was too overcome with relief to even try to make sense of it at that moment, but the matter occupied his mind for the whole of the next day.

*

Thursday came and he met Fitzwilliam outside as he and Ashbourne exited their carriage. He felt the man lift the packet from his pocket, but was certain that he had only felt it because Fitzwilliam had intended him to. He had put another note in his pocket, telling him that they needed to meet, for he needed to tell Fitzwilliam of the events of the previous day. When he checked his pocket, everything was gone, and he assumed that Fitzwilliam would communicate with him somehow after he read it.

They exchanged no greetings, and did not even look directly at one another, though he caught Ashbourne's eye as they went into the house. He looked quite low, and Bingley was concerned for more than Ashbourne. To place the man in mixed company when he was already discomposed did not bode well for anyone's evening.

Bingley had never before appreciated how much a servant could see and hear at such an event. It was no wonder the fashionable women of town turned to their abigails for the best gossip.

The evening began on an awkward note when Fitzwilliam and Ashbourne were introduced to Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham. In Ashbourne he saw only distant recognition, but Fitzwilliam looked rather angrier than he had when he had expounded to Bingley on the dangers of telling young ladies secrets that were not his own, and that was saying a good deal. Ashbourne looked at Fitzwilliam in surprise and for perhaps the first time in their lives, Ashbourne was the one to fulfill the demands of politeness while his brother composed himself.

Mr. Wickham, for his part, turned white, and once the introduction was over, he seemed most interested in maintaining as much distance between himself and Fitzwilliam as possible. Fitzwilliam appeared to calm himself after a few minutes, and Bingley could only hope that the entire matter had gone largely unnoticed by the rest of the room.

Things got somewhat worse when Mr. Gallagher joined the party. Ashbourne managed himself admirably, no doubt he had been extensively prepared for the meeting by Fitzwilliam, and was no more than usually distant and unfriendly on making Mr. Gallagher's acquaintance. Bingley saw Gallagher examining both brothers most carefully. Though neither of them appeared to pay him much mind, Bingley did not doubt they were both very much aware of his presence.

For himself, Bingley could only be glad that Lord Walden had not accompanied Mr. Gallagher. Though he had his own suspicions regarding Mr. Gallagher's visit the day before, he was still easier not being in the man's presence.

Mr. Collins, when he took note of Ashbourne sitting on the chair closest to Miss Bennet, though there were two feet between them, and Ashbourne's back was turned to her, immediately crossed the room and began paying his attentions to his cousin. Ashbourne paid him no more mind than to give him a cross look when his banal chatter became excessive.

"Dear cousin, I have not yet had the opportunity to tell you all I had wished of the grandeurs of Rosings Park."

"Indeed, sir, you have told me a great deal. Though I very much appreciate your attempts to satisfy my curiosity about that fine estate, you must surely be tired of speaking of it."

"You are too good, Cousin, too good, but it is no trouble at all."

He was happily employed then in describing that grand estate, and Lady Catherine, occasionally digressing to praise his own humble abode and the improvements it was receiving. When Ashbourne finally rose to seat himself elsewhere, Mrs. Bennet came from across the room and said, "Lord Ashbourne, it is so very good to see you. And here is my eldest daughter Jane, who I am sure you remember from the assembly. You cannot remember any other young lady so well from that evening, I am sure."

Miss Bennet flushed slightly, and Ashbourne pressed his lips together, glancing slightly to the side in an expression of embarrassment that Bingley knew too well. He only bowed and, after a moment, moved away without another word. Mrs. Bennet watched him go, appearing very vexed, while Mr. Collins seemed delighted, and returned his attention to Miss Bennet.

Ashbourne crossed the room just as Mrs. Phillips asked, "And how is your niece, Mr. Gallagher? Well, I hope."

"Much the same as always, I am afraid. The doctor now believes she is consumptive. I care only for her comfort, of course. I would scarcely have left the house tonight, but she is a sweet child, and would not have anyone curtail their pleasures on her account."

Ashbourne was fortunately turned away from him as he spoke. Bingley saw the anger in his eyes, and the grimace he could not seem to suppress. Fitzwilliam was near Ashbourne, and had likely seen it as well. He turned to him and said, "Brother, I have been engaged in the most interesting conversation with Miss Elizabeth Bennet about the woods and hills near Kentridge. You are sometimes fond of a ramble, and I believe you know some of the paths even better than I. Perhaps you will join us."

Ashbourne allowed himself to be led away, and Bingley admired his forbearance.

Bingley's eye was drawn back to Miss Bennet, who stood with Mr. Collins, admitting his attentions without the slightest hint of impatience. She looked lovely. Her hair was in a more modern style tonight, with feathers and curls. No man would have blushed to walk into the most fashionable ball in London with her on his arm.

She glanced at him, meeting his eye for only a moment. Bingley turned away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

"The walks are finer at Pemberley than at Kentridge," Ashbourne said.

"Pemberley! Do you know it?" Miss Elizabeth asked.

"It is the home of our cousin," Fitzwilliam said. He glanced across the room at Mr. Wickham, who was in conversation with Mr. Denny and had not mingled much in the room.

"Mr. Darcy is your cousin," Miss Elizabeth said.

"Do you know him?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"I only know of him," she said, her eyes very bright. She appeared to want to say more, but thought better of it.

Fitzwilliam dropped his voice and Bingley could not hear all he said, but he distinctly heard "Mr. Wickham" spoken more than once, along with "caution you" and "slander" and "the best of men". When they had finished speaking, Miss Elizabeth looked very grave, and when she saw her youngest sister speaking with Mr. Wickham, she appeared troubled.

Bingley was sent away on an errand then, and when he returned, he saw Fitzwilliam engaged in seemingly affable conversation with Mr. Gallagher, and Ashbourne clinging to a corner of the room. Miss Bennet had at last freed herself from Mr. Collins, and was speaking to Miss Lucas. Miss Mary had seated herself at the pianoforte and was playing a dull concerto, until her mother scolded her into playing something more lively, and Mr. Collins had managed to detain another poor soul. Mrs. Phillips, at least, seemed very interested in hearing all about Rosings.

Bingley had just begun to relax and think that the evening would go off well despite all, when Ashbourne pushed himself off from the wall and began to cross to where his brother was speaking to Mr. Gallagher. Bingley tensed. Fitzwilliam, on seeing Ashbourne's intentions, turned abruptly to Mr. Collins and said, "I beg your pardon, sir, but did I hear you say that you are acquainted with Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park?"

"I am indeed. Is she one of your acquaintances? Lady Catherine is known to many of the nobility."

"She is my aunt, I am happy to say."

Mr. Collins appeared to glow, and launched into a ridiculous speech praising her ladyship and expressing his joy on such a singularly fortuitous meeting. Fitzwilliam cut him off. "I have the pleasure of seeing my aunt each year, but my brother has not that opportunity. He would be more than happy to speak of Lady Catherine, I am sure."

Bingley clenched his jaw, and tried desperately not to laugh as Mr. Collins rushed across the room and accosted the man he had only a few minutes before considered his rival for the hand of Miss Bennet. The brothers made the briefest eye contact before Fitzwilliam turned back to his conversation, and Ashbourne was forced to resign himself to his own. Bingley was very glad that he would not have to share the carriage with them on the ride home.

"Yes, I know of it. I do not care what it is worth, it is hideous," Bingley heard Ashbourne say as he passed. He managed to nudge him without attracting attention. Ashbourne glanced at him and added, "In my opinion."

And so the evening went. Mr. Wickham avoided Fitzwilliam, who largely ignored him, but once or twice gave him very unkind looks. Ashbourne was subject to the effusions of Mr. Collins, and spent the evening growing at once crosser and more embarrassed, and while he managed to restrain himself from again attempting to speak to Mr. Gallagher, it was clear to Bingley that he resented his brother's interference, even though he likely knew it had been for the best.

Bingley had never before wished for skill in wielding a pen, but he thought that it all would have made a masterful play, in the right hands.

*

Mr. Collins proposed to Miss Bennet the next morning. Bingley was not present when Mrs. Bennet hurried everyone from the room so that Mr. Collins could speak to Miss Bennet, but the matter was so well known throughout the house that he could not but be aware of it.

He left the house as soon as he could contrive a reason. He was worn out of anxiety, felt almost numb. He could only pray that she would not accept him.

Matty accosted him in the hall when he returned, startling him. Unlike Mrs. Hill, Matty was light on her feet, though her voice heralded her presence well enough.

"So, and you will never believe what I have to tell. Well, you will believe it, on account of you know it all so well, and you've seen it all just like us, but it is so much. Well, you know that Mr. Collins proposed to Miss Bennet this morning. And he gave such a speech I'm sure, and Miss Bennet, she listened to it all, and I hear tell that she said, all very sweet and proper, that she appreciated the offer, and was very grateful for his generosity, but believed she must decline, on account of they weren't suited. I don't know who Mr. Collins would be suited for. I wouldn't marry him for all the world, let alone to become mistress of Longbourn. So, and Mr. Collins, he said, 'I see, indeed, I do cousin. Your modesty and your goodness are much to be admired. Because you have that most admirable, most feminine quality of modesty, you feel yourself unsuited for a position that will place you in the estimable company of which I have so often spoken, and you are therefore deferring your acceptance of my offer, until such time as I can flatter you sufficiently.' And she tried her very best to tell him that it weren't modesty that kept her from accepting, but he spoke and spoke on how good she was, and how modest and how humble. And Miss Bennet, you know she can't be hard with anyone, and she was so sweet, and Mr. Collins half believes she has accepted him, for all that she keeps telling him she hasn't."

They ducked into a small closet.

"Well, and the missus, she called Miss Bennet into her room and was very severe with her. Poor Miss Bennet, she's not used to such things. Mrs. Bennet ain't hardly ever severe with her, not like she can be with Miss Elizabeth, or Miss Mary. She said that Miss Bennet ought not to be thinking of Lord Ashbourne anymore, on account of it was clear that Lord Ashbourne had no more intentions, and that it would have been a very, very fine thing indeed, if Lord Ashbourne had taken a fancy to her, but that a future earl, who would have almost 25,000 a year, could hardly be counted on to take such a fancy, even to a girl as pretty as Miss Bennet, and on any account, Lord Ashbourne was a very queer man. So, and Miss Bennet told her that she wasn't thinking of Lord Ashbourne at all on any account, and it was only that she did not want to marry Mr. Collins, which I thought was very bold of her to say. Oh, and the missus was in such a rage, flying off about her being a wicked girl, and how she had never thought that she was stubborn, not like her sister, but that she was being such a bad child, and she would see her sisters tossed out with nothing, and that if she would not marry Mr. Collins, Mrs. Bennet would never see her again.

"And I saw Miss Bennet, after, and she looked so very bad. I think Miss Elizabeth is talking to her now. I'm sure Miss Elizabeth will do what she can for her, and she would never see Miss Bennet married to such a man if she can help it, but bless me! Poor Miss Bennet. I wish it had been Miss Elizabeth he had asked. Miss Elizabeth wouldn't pay her mother no mind at all, but Miss Bennet ain't used to such treatment." She sighed.

Bingley had swung wildly through every possible emotion from fear to relief to anger throughout Matty's speech. Some small part of him dared hope that Miss Bennet had been thinking of him, but he knew it to be very unlikely.

He saw little of Miss Bennet that day, and knew from Matty that she kept to her room, though Mrs. Bennet would not permit her to stay away the whole of the day. Miss Elizabeth sat by Miss Bennet that evening, and shielded her from her mother and Mr. Collins as best as she could. He had seen Miss Elizabeth go into her father's study earlier in the day, and knew what she must have been about there, but though Mr. Bennet saw all, he said nothing to protect his daughter.


	12. Chapter 12

Mr. Bennet sent him on an errand to Netherfield the following day. It seemed that Colonel Fitzwilliam had spoken to Mr. Bennet about his brother's collections, and that Mr. Bennet had some odd specimens of insect lying around that he could not recall acquiring and had no desire to keep.

The footman at Netherfield was once again superior with him, but Bingley could hardly bring himself to notice, much less care.

Ashbourne seemed happy enough with the glossy beetles that Mr. Bennet had sent, though he set them aside as Bingley related everything that had happened.

"Lord Walden most likely did recognize you in Meryton, and concocted this to expose you without exposing himself. I imagine Mr. Ridgeway planted the dish in your room. When he found it, you would have been forced to reveal yourself as a gentleman to prevent being carted off like a common criminal. As to who took the dish after he planted it, or who hid and then returned the papers, that is indeed a mystery."

"Have you anyone else in Mr. Bennet's house?"

Fitzwilliam gave him an incredulous look over his tea. "Hardly. Do you think I have people working for me in every house in England? Could it have been your Miss Bennet?"

"She is not my Miss Bennet," Bingley said sadly. "I very much doubt it in any case. If it was her, certainly she would have said something to me, either before or after."

Fitzwilliam nodded. He did not appear outwardly upset, but Bingley could see his mind working behind his light brown eyes.

"My concern is that Lord Walden is now in the same house as Sophia," Ashbourne said.

"Try not to think on it overmuch," Fitzwilliam said with a gentleness that took Bingley by surprise. "Lord Walden is not the sort to resort to...savage methods with a young lady. He believes in his ability to charm."

"Nevertheless, that he would come at all...certainly that means that something has happened."

"If Miss Cunningham had broken her resolve and agreed to marry him, Nell would have found some way to tell us," Bingley said. "Very likely he has only come because he hopes to work on his cousin with his charms, now that he believes she is weak."

Ashbourne nodded, but did not appear comforted.

Bingley could not stay much longer. Fitzwilliam assured him that all was as it had been, and that neither Lord Walden's presence nor the mystery of Bingley's protector would materially change their plans.

*

Sunday came. It was the fifth Sunday he had spent working at Longbourn, but that was not an anniversary Bingley was eager to dwell upon. He went for a walk, found a comfortable spot under a tree, and thought.

As always, Miss Bennet was foremost in his mind. He wished very much to have someone he could speak to about the situation, but Ashbourne was tied up in his own problems, and he had no desire to discuss Miss Bennet with Colonel Fitzwilliam, assuming he could even find an opportunity to speak with either of them.

Mr. Collins continued his assault on his cousin, apparently oblivious to the idea that her rejections were more than the teasing of a woman in love. Mrs. Bennet attacked from the other side, well aware that Miss Bennet did not wish to marry Mr. Collins, and declaring her the wickedest girl in England for it, speaking to her all the day on entails and small dowries, her poor sisters, and her duty to her family.

He knew with a certainty that he had to say something. He would never forgive himself if she married Mr. Collins while he stood by and watched without at least trying. Yet, he was honor bound to stay in his place and see this entire matter through. He had promised himself to Ashbourne, and to Fitzwilliam.

If he were to be entirely honest with himself, he was also afraid. He had declared himself once before, when he was barely one and twenty. That lady's rejection of him had been kind, but it had been painful. She had dismissed him as a boy, though she was no older than he, and though time had lessened the sting, he had not forgotten what it was to give his heart to a woman and have it handed back with polite thanks and a gentle laugh.

When he finally roused himself, he felt stiff and awkward, his legs cramped from too long in one position.

It was still relatively early in the day, and the weather had warmed somewhat. The chill in the air no longer had such a bite. Had he not been walking so slowly, he might never have seen her. As it was, there was only a flash of dark green against the dull gray of late autumn, yet he felt certain it was her.

He padded softly across the ground, not wishing to disturb her. Another young lady in her position might have been crying, but Miss Bennet only sat on the exposed root of the large tree, her skirts carefully arranged, staring out into the distance with a melancholy expression on her face.

He called her name softly. She started and began to rise, but he begged her not to trouble herself, and asked leave to sit beside her.

They sat in companionable silence for a time, both of them lost in thoughts. He was aware of her beside him, desirous to say something, and yet entirely at a loss as to where he could possibly begin.

"You seem troubled, sir," Miss Bennet said.

"I am," Bingley said candidly. "I have discovered that the demands of the heart and the demands of duty are not always easily reconciled."

She looked at him, her expression almost suspicious. "No, they are not. One does wonder how much of oneself must be sacrificed to satisfy duty."

"Exactly so. Is a lifetime of regret to be balanced by the satisfaction of knowing that one's duty to others has been discharged?"

Her dark blue eyes had turned searching, almost desperate. She fell quiet for a time, then turned to him suddenly and said, "You told me your secret, Mr. Bingley. May I now tell you--I know it is not proper to speak of it to you, but I--"

Bingley hesitated. Just an hour ago he would have given anything to hear her secret thoughts, but the thought that she might reveal to him something that she would later regret gave him pause. "Surely your sister--"

She shook her head sadly. "No. For the first time in my life, I cannot speak to Lizzy. Lizzy is so very _sure_, you see. Lizzy knows precisely what I must do. I must reject Mr. Collins, and I have done that, and it was hard, it was so very hard to do, and yet it was not enough. I must continue to reject him, while he makes his advances and my mother scolds me. Lizzy does not understand, she is so strong, and so sure of herself, and she does not understand why I am driven to reconsider. She only wants me to be happy, and my mother only wants her family to be secure, and Mr. Collins only wants to do what is right regarding the entail and I cannot--" Her eyes shone, but he had no handkerchief to give her. It mattered not, the tears did not fall. "Am I to choose between forfeiting the respect of a most beloved sister and losing the affection of my own mother? Am I to choose between the security of my family and my own happiness? I cannot see any way that I would be at all happy with Mr. Collins. I have tried, I have tried to think well of him and see his best qualities and I have tried to find a way to respect him, but I cannot!" Her voice broke and she turned away.

Bingley closed his eyes. Surely he was not expected to bear this too. Surely a man must meet his limit somewhere.

Without thinking, he took her hand.

"You have spoken candidly to me, now I beg your leave to do the same. You know that I am not the man your family thinks me to be, you know that I am a man of means. I have the ability to support and provide for your family, perhaps not in the greatest luxury, but in comfort." She began to draw her hand away, but he held it tighter. "Please. I beg you to let me speak." At her nod, he continued. "I love you, and I want you to be my wife. I do not imagine that you feel for me as I feel for you, but if you think that you can, in time, come to care for me, if you feel that you will be happy with me, then will you marry me?"

She was silent for such a length of time that he felt the need to fill the space with his own chatter. "I know this is the most terrible time I could have asked, and I know the burden I am asking you to carry. We will not be able to tell your family, you can tell no one, not even the sister whom you so love, and you would still suffer under your mother and your cousin, and I cannot protect you and take you away as I would wish to, but I--oh, please say something."

"I never understood...I do...I would..." She blushed.

Bingley felt his brow wrinkle. "Was that an answer?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

She laughed. "Yes! Yes, Mr. Bingley, I will marry you."

He laughed then too, and stood and pulled her up with him. He wanted very much to kiss her, but he could not bring himself to be so improper. He had not her father's consent. He had already brought her into a secret engagement; he would not bring her into any more wrongdoing. He restrained himself, and was satisfied with kissing her hand tenderly.

"I thank you, Miss Bennet. I cannot thank you--"

"It is I who must give thanks, sir. Words cannot express how very grateful I am--" He shook his head. He wanted more than gratitude from her, but that would come in time. "I beg your pardon. It is not always easy for me to express myself as I would wish. What I mean to say is that you are not--I am--I do--"

"Yes?"

"I do--"

"Cousin Jane!"

Bingley closed his eyes and dropped Jane's hand. She shook her head and moved to intercept her cousin before Bingley could be seen.

"Good day, Mr. Collins."

"Ah, Cousin Jane, there you are. I thought perhaps I might find you here. You are a great admirer of nature, I see. Lady Catherine has done much with the woods and groves at Rosings. I believe you will enjoy them very much."

Miss Bennet sighed. "I should be very happy to come as your guest and visit Rosings someday."

Mr. Collins chuckled. It was such a patronizing sound that Bingley could hardly bear to hear it. "As a guest indeed," he said, as Jane led him away so that Bingley could escape unseen.

When they were gone, he let free the joyful laugh that had been trapped in his chest. He was forced to walk the lanes for an hour more, until he had collected himself well enough that he felt fit to be seen.

*

Bingley watched Jane with all the attention befitting a lover. After a time, he determined that the engagement had had two somewhat opposing effects. Jane seemed easier than she had been since Mr. Collins entered the house. She smiled more often, her cheeks had more color, and her eyes were brighter. He was glad, very glad, to see it.

Yet, those same effects, those smiles, that color, those eyes, had given Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Collins rather more hope for their own cause than Bingley would have liked. Mr. Collins took every secret smile into her work as meant for him. Mrs. Bennet took every blush as a sign that Jane really was being too modest in rejecting Mr. Collins advances, and changed her tactics from harsh words to gentle remonstrances. She also took to leaving the supposed-lovers alone a great deal, which could not but make Bingley uneasy, though he knew Jane risked only mortification from such meetings.

After one such incident he entered a room to see Mr. Collins seated as close to Miss Bennet as propriety allowed, and perhaps a few inches closer. Jane met his eyes. She looked almost ashamed of herself. That she should suffer shame because Mr. Collins forced himself upon her was insupportable.

"Ah, Jane, there you are. I see you and Mr. Collins have found a great deal to speak on," Mrs. Bennet said on seeing them.

"Indeed you are mistaken, ma'am. We have very little to speak on."

"I have been telling dearest Jane about Lady Catherine's contributions to the poor. She is often willing to speak to even the lowliest of her tenants, and instruct them on how they might better manage their affairs."

"I beg you not to use such endearments, sir. As we are not engaged, such things are far from proper."

Mrs. Bennet looked very cross. "Dear girl, Mr. Collins is such an attentive lover, and has been very patient with your teasing, but you mustn't keep him waiting forever."

"I have been the very model of a patient lover, but I do begin to wonder if my cousin desires my attentions at all."

"Oh, Mr. Collins! Pray do not say such things! Look at the girl, see how she blushes. That is all your doing. She is simply a modest girl who is not used to such things."

"Indeed you are mistaken, ma'am. You are both very much mistaken." She set her work aside and rose to her feet. "Please excuse me."

As soon as he dared, he followed her, and found her in an empty parlor where she was pacing the floor. Her skirts rustled with each step. He closed the door softly. "Miss Bennet?"

"I am not used to such things? I have been prepared for the attentions of gentlemen since my fourteenth year. I have been taught how to sit and how to act and how to flirt without appearing to flirt. Now she says that I am modest and unused to such things and do not know my own mind, when it was she who prepared me." He smiled. She turned to him, and put her hands on her hips. "What?"

"I have never seen you angry."

She seemed to take his statement as an accusation, and a just one. Her hands left her hips and she seemed to fall into herself. "Oh, do forgive me, I do not mean to be so; I am only so very tired of all of this."

He shook his head. "Miss Bennet, you have every reason to be angry. I am glad to see it. I should hate to have to always be angry for you."

She looked down. "It is not ladylike." Her eyes rose and he saw fear in them. "Please do not think that I will be a wife who is always cross."

"I doubt very much you could be always cross if you tried. When we are married, you may be cross with whomever you like, provided it is not me."

For a moment she appeared to take his statement in all seriousness, but when she took note of his teasing smile, he saw a playful spirit rise in her and she said, "I am forbidden from ever being cross with you?"

Bingley affected an expression of serious thought. "Very well, you may be cross with me, but only if you adhere to my one rule."

"And what is that?"

"If you are cross with me, you must come to me and say 'Charles, I am very cross with you.' I do not trust you to tell me otherwise, and I would hate to be always wondering if my wife is vexed with me. You guard yourself very well, you know. You must promise to tell me." All humor left his voice. "Promise me, Jane."

"I promise you that I will tell you when I am cross with you, but I do not think it will be very often."

"I am certain it will be a very rare occurrence. In fact, because it will be so rare, I think you should practice."

"Practice?"

"Yes, indeed! Say it. Tell me you are cross with me."

She laughed. "I am very cross with you."

"That did not count. 'twas the sweetest thing I ever heard. You must try again."

She attempted to restrain her smile. "I am very cross with you."

He stepped closer. "Perhaps you should pretend I am your mother. Shall I scold you, and insist you marry Mr. Collins? Would that make it easier?" He affected a falsetto voice. "'Do not be so sly, Jane. Come sit by Mr. Collins, Jane. Jane, how can you think of no one but yourself?'"

"I am very cross with you!" she shouted, then slapped her hand over her mouth.

Bingley stared at her in shock. He wondered how long she had wanted to say that.

They could neither of them speak before Mrs. Hill opened the door. "Is there a problem, ma'am?"

"Indeed there is," Bingley said. "Miss Bennet told me to go to Meryton to purchase a book for her yesterday and I entirely forgot. _Tristram Shandy_, I believe it was, and I will go right this minute, begging the young lady's pardon."

Mrs. Hill scolded him terribly, saying that she had never before seen a servant so incompetent as to stir Miss Bennet's temper, but the words flew past Bingley unheeded. He had determined that Mrs. Hill disliked him simply for existing. There was nothing he could do to please the woman, so he did not bother to try. Miss Bennet seemed lighter and happier when she walked past him in the hall, and that was more than enough reward to balance any scolding he received.


	13. Chapter 13

"So, I never thought to tell this to anyone, but I think that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth have had a quarrel."

"Indeed!"

"Well, that might be to put to strong a word on it, but I do think they're at odds, for all that I'd never have thought I'd say that to anyone. It is very hard to know anything that happens with them, they are so quiet, and so careful to shoo us out of the room afore they talk about anything of interest, and you can never tell what Miss Bennet is thinking on any account, but I thought they looked very uncomfortable this morning, and they hardly talked at all at breakfast. I do so hope they haven't, on account of they're so good to each other, and poor Miss Bennet, her mother is still cross with her. Mr. Collins has begun to declare that he won't have her at all, and I hear tell that this morning, she went to Mr. Bennet, to have him insist on her marrying Mr. Collins, but he would do nothing of the kind. And now the missus is terrible angry with everyone, and Mr. Collins has gone off. Miss Elizabeth asked Miss Lucas to invite him to Lucas Lodge, and he's gone off there, and they can have him."

Bingley tried not to worry overmuch about Matty's speculations, but when he saw Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth later, he began to suspect that she might be right. The sisters were seated at their work, speaking only occasionally, and though they said and did nothing to give any appearance of a lack of congenial feeling, the usual great warmth between them did seem to be missing. He could not but imagine that whatever had passed between them was in some way connected to him.

The day afforded him few opportunities to speak to Miss Bennet and none to speak to her out of the company of others. He watched her when he could. She was not pale, she was not low, but she did not smile into her work as she had. No blush came to her cheek unbidden. With all the confidence of a lover, he felt certain he could have returned her to such a state, but for a lack of any opportunity to try.

Mr. Collins announced his engagement to Miss Lucas the very next day. Miss Bennet took the news philosophically and Miss Elizabeth took it poorly. Whatever passed between the two on the subject of Miss Lucas and Mr. Collins, Bingley could not know, but Miss Elizabeth went for a walk soon after. Bingley, seeing Jane alone, stole a chance to speak with her.

She stood by the window, her back turned to him. She wore a green gown that day and her curls tumbled down her back.

"Have you and your sister been at odds?"

"Yes."

"About me?"

"We could hardly be at odds about you when she knows nothing of you." He examined her words and her tone for reproach or anger, but he found none.

"I am the cause," Bingley said.

She turned to him. Her arms were wrapped across her belly. "Yes. She knows I am hiding something. She is not angry with me, she is hurt. And I am the one who is hurting her."

She looked so vulnerable and so unsure of herself that he crossed the room in three quick strides and pulled her into a rough embrace. She smelled like orange flowers and ambergrease. He felt her relax against him, her head resting against his shoulder, when she stiffened and pulled away.

"Forgive me. I ought not to have done that."

She shook her head. "Miss Lucas will be married to Mr. Collins."

"I did hear."

"I hope they will be very happy together."

"Do you think it likely?" He did not know Miss Lucas well enough to judge. Perhaps if the woman was as foolish as her betrothed, she might have a hope.

"Charlotte wants only a comfortable house, and to be mistress of her own affairs, a situation which Mr. Collins can provide."

"How much of her own mistress can she be, with Lady Catherine to direct her in all things?"

"She is seven and twenty, and this is the first eligible offer she has ever received. She will not be dependent upon her family, and Mr. Collins will have a sensible wife. Not everyone can hope for romantic love in their marriage, and variety in disposition must be taken into account. I hope they will be very happy together."

She had not answered his question, but if she wanted to believe that Miss Lucas would not come to regret her choice, it was likely that the more closely she examined the matter, the more difficult that would become. He would not press her.

"You, I suppose, would hope for romantic love in your marriage."

She smiled. "It is always preferable."

"I do love you, romantically and rather passionately." Her color rose. "Should I not say it so very often? I know that you do not feel as strongly as I do."

"No! Pray, do not think that. I am only not accustomed to such things, but I hope to become accustomed to them. It is hard for me...it is hard for me to..."

They were interrupted by Miss Mary, who came into the room with a book. Bingley left before she could think of something about which to moralize.

*

Mrs. Bennet was in a very foul mood that evening, and spoke at length about artful Lucases and stubborn, strong-willed girls who would not abide their mothers. She had a few words for Miss Elizabeth as well, who, she felt certain, had influenced her sister to such disobedience. Mr. Bennet did finally silence her with several sharp words and strong looks, and then she was forced to be satisfied with expressing her disapproval in the unkind expressions that she bestowed upon her two eldest children.

Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet seemed to have reached some sort of accord, for there was not the distance between them that there had been earlier, but Bingley could not but be pricked with guilt still that he had in any way come between them.

He went to bed that night thinking of Jane, of the scent of her hair and the feel of her in his arms, and he fell into a peaceful and restful sleep. That sleep was abruptly interrupted in the early hours of the morning. He woke with a hand over his mouth and a strong arm holding him pinned to the bed.

"Do not shout."

Fitzwilliam?

Bingley nodded and the hand was removed. Fitzwilliam let him sit up, and lit the taper by the side of the bed. Bingley swung his legs out of bed and stared at the man. A dozen questions ran through his mind, but foremost was, "Is it your intention to kill me of fright?"

"Lower your voice."

"How did you get in here? No, allow me to guess. You bribed George."

"No. I did bring money, but he was asleep."

"Of course. And what is so vitally important that you must needs accost me in my sleep?"

"Things have taken an unexpected turn. Dorset has come."

"Dorset!"

"Lower--"

"My voice, yes. Why has Dorset come?"

"Very likely because he strongly suspects that I have proof of his acts of treason, and intends to flee to France. He has come for his son and, I do not doubt, also for Miss Audley. Dorset is far too controlling to allow her to remain in England after she has defied him for so long."

"What of Gallagher and Ridgeway?"

"He will leave them to face the consequences of their involvement alone. If I am correct, our advantage lies with them. He cannot reveal that his activities have been discovered to either of them and so cannot act with as much haste as he might wish. Yet, I cannot depend upon his remaining in England for more than a day. Miss Audley's removal from Mr. Gallagher's house must take place very soon."

"Tonight?"

"No, tomorrow."

"Tomorrow night, do you mean?" Fitzwilliam shook his head. "During the light of day? That is madness."

Fitzwilliam shrugged. "The advantage of a mad plan is that it is rarely prepared for. I have forged a note in Mr. Bennet's hand which will bring Gallagher here tomorrow."

"The note involves me, I suppose."

"Yes. It seems Mr. Bennet has discovered a silver dish in his house which he believes may be the one you were alleged to have stolen. The ruse will not hold for very long. I hope the mystery of the forgery will be sufficient to keep him here, but if you believe he is to leave, do try to come up with a distraction. Lord Dorset and his son I intend to draw to Netherfield."

"How?"

"Forgive me, but I would rather not tell you more than you need to know lest you feel the urge to share the knowledge with the next pretty face you see."

The scant allusion, derisive though it was, was enough for Bingley. "Miss Bennet has agreed to marry me."

Fitzwilliam snorted. "You have been making love to your master's daughter? I am all astonishment."

"And you will steal into the house and remove Miss Audley, I suppose."

"Something like that. Do not concern yourself with the details. Only do your utmost to keep Gallagher here tomorrow for as long as you can."

Bingley nodded and Fitzwilliam went to leave. He paused at the door. "I offer my congratulations on your engagement. How do you intend to tell the young lady's family?"

"I haven't the first idea," Bingley said.

"It may prove...trying," Fitzwilliam said, and left.

It very likely would. Bingley was trying not to think about it.

*

He rose the next morning, washed, shaved, and dressed with a certain graveness that he had not felt before. He went to breakfast only because it was expected of him, and ate as little as he dared, sipping his ale thoughtfully while Matty talked and Tilly listened politely while trying to occasionally interject her own thoughts.

The anticipation of what was coming ate at him all morning. Mr. Collins had returned to Longbourn to gather his things. He was to leave for Rosings that afternoon, to speak well of his choice before Lady Catherine. Bingley had a vision of the man entering the inner sanctum of Rosings, and making supplications and prostrations like an ancient heathen at the temple of their patron god.

Through design or chance--he was not willing to examine the matter closely enough to determine which--Bingley was able to hear most of what Mr. Collins said to Miss Bennet that morning.

"Dear cousin, I wish you to know that I bear you no ill will. Though it was my hope to mitigate the injury caused to you and your lovely sisters by the entail which prevents your father's estate from being entirely his own, I am secure in having discharged my own duty. As to your choice, while I do not pretend to understand why you have rejected such an eligible and _magnanimous_ offer, I grant you that it is a woman's prerogative to accept or reject a proposal as she sees fit."

He paused, and though Bingley could not see him, he could very well imagine him standing up straighter and gripping his coat like an MP before the lower house. "I wish to take this opportunity to caution you, however. You are no doubt aware that you are a very handsome young lady, and while I would never accuse you of something so base and vulgar as _vanity_, I think that in my position, as your cousin, and as a clergyman, it behooves me to admonish you to not place too much weight on the outward appearance. There are things of far more weight than beauty. The fair sex is warned not to adorn themselves with the plaiting of the hair and the wearing of gold, but with a meek and quiet spirit. _If_ therefore you are privileged to receive another eligible offer, you would do well to remember that bloom will fade, and that you cannot rely on such gifts carrying you even through the dawn of your life, so much less so the twilight. Miss de Bourgh, the daughter of my esteemed patron, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, though not a great beauty--but I should not wish you to think her plain, for her features are very regular, and there is an air about her, which only exceptional breeding can lend--yet she is also of that same quiet, mild spirit I spoke on earlier, though she has a great deal to offer both in _superior_ connections and material wealth. I speak only out of concern, you understand."

Jane thanked him for this speech, though how she managed Bingley could not fathom. She slipped from the house soon after. Her step was heavy, and Bingley could not stop himself from following.

He found her in a secluded part of the garden, seated on a stone bench. He glanced at the tall hedges shielding them from any casual gaze, and sat next to her.

"I hope you are not taking any of Mr. Collin's speech to heart." She did not reply, only smoothed her skirts out in what he had begun to recognize as a nervous gesture. "No one has a meeker or quieter spirit than you. And as to vanity--"

"I know that I am not vain," Jane said quietly. "I never have been. Sometimes I..."

"Yes?"

She smoothed her skirts. Bingley did not sigh, but he very much wanted to. It was so terribly frustrating to love a woman who revealed herself in brief glimpses of feeling before retreating behind a veil of perfect calm.

"You will think me very silly," Jane said, after a silence so long he had been about to leave her to herself.

"I may," Bingley said, and perhaps some of his frustration was present in his voice. "But I love you, and all of your thoughts are dear to me, silly or not."

She fell quiet again, but this time he waited.

"I do not know if I can even express what I mean. My mother speaks so often of my appearance, you see, I wonder sometimes if she cares for me at all, but for how I look. I have often wondered if there is anything more that anyone values in me. Mr. Collins is right, whatever beauty I may have will fade. What of value will I have to offer then?"

"Your sister loves you for your goodness, Jane, I have seen that, and I know you know it. And I love you for your goodness too."

"I knew you would think me silly. I am being silly, indeed, I--"

"No! I do not think you silly, do not misunderstand me, that is not--I do understand. I have never told anyone this, but I do..." He realized now that he had been unfair to her earlier. There were some things which were hard to speak of, even to someone dearly loved, and Jane had not even those tender feelings to carry her forward.

"My father's will was quite badly written, you see. No, that is incorrect. It was not badly written, it was only too ignorant of those occasional perversities of fortune that sometimes befall us. My father left the custody of his children to my mother, and specified that she would be fit to name a guardian in case of her death. My mother died a scant few weeks after my father. It is said that her grief at my father's passing left her ill-equipped to face the rigors of the child bed. She never had time to name a guardian. My grandmother claimed that my mother named her to take us as she was dying. My uncle said that an earlier will had named him as the guardian of my father's children and that he had the greater claim. The first nine years of my life were spent being sent between my grandmother and my uncle, as the matter of our custody, as well as other issues of management of the estate, went through the courts. It was then my grandmother died and put an end to the matter."

He jumped when she placed her hand on top of his. It was the first time she had initiated such a touch. She began to pull away, but he turned his hand so their palms were touching, and she let her hand rest lightly in his. He could feel the warmth of her skin through their gloves.

"The thing of it, the reason I bring it up at all, is that my father's will also specified that the guardian of his children would receive one thousand pounds a year from his estate, in addition to the money used to care for us. Do not think that I was not loved. We were dearly loved, all of us, by my grandmother and my uncle. It is only that my father's family is genteel but poor. He made his fortune in trade, and they scorned him for it, but they did not scorn his money. I have often wondered what we would have been to them if we had not come with an income."

"You are worth far more than your fortune, sir."

"And you are worth far more than your figure, lovely though it is."

She smiled radiantly, and not for the first time, Bingley longed to kiss her.

It was fortunate that the gravel paths in the small garden advertised the approach of Mrs. Hill. Bingley slipped away and met her several minutes later in the kitchen, where he was helping Rose. She seemed vexed to find him at his work.

*

Near noon, Mr. Gallagher arrived, and within minutes, he was in Mr. Bennet's office, examining a passable but far from perfect forgery of that man's handwriting.

"And you know nothing of this?" Mr. Bennet asked.

"Nothing, sir," Bingley said. He wondered when lies had begun to slip from his tongue so easily.

Mr. Bennet sighed. "I don't suppose you would care to search the man's room again?"

"I am only...confused," Mr. Gallagher said. Bingley could see fear in his eyes. He knew something was amiss. Mr. Gallagher was studying him intently. Bingley forced his expression to a neutral, almost blank stare. Mr. Bennet was studying him as well. He sighed and removed a small silver dish from his drawer.

"Mr. Ridgeway brought this to me this morning," Mr. Bennet said. "He claims he found it in the cellar near your room. I had intended to write to Mr. Gallagher, but it seems someone has taken the initiative to do it for me. I confess that I am very vexed by all of this."

Bingley eyed the dish. "I have never seen that before in my life, sir."

"I am not certain what is going on here, but...you seem to have brought disruption to my house, Charles. Mrs. Hill does not at all care for you, my daughter Mary came to me with concerns about your morals, and I...there is something about you, something that I cannot quite place, but...I think well of you, I think that you have a great deal of potential, if only you would apply yourself to finding applications for your talents."

Bingley almost laughed. He felt fifteen again, seated in the sitting room before his uncle, staring at the Hogarth print above the fire while his uncle asked him why he did not apply himself more. Did he not wish to be a great politician, or a diplomat? (He categorically did not.)

"I do not think you fit here, Charles."

Bingley forced himself to make some defense, because he felt he must. How had he offended Mr. Bennet? Could he not find a way to make up for his errors? He hoped that he would not be dismissed without references. &amp;c.

Mr. Bennet held up his hand. "We will speak later. I must talk for a moment with Mr. Gallagher."

Bingley bowed and left. He hoped that Mr. Bennet would detain Mr. Gallagher for a time, for he could not think of a distraction that would keep him at Longbourn.

He found Miss Bennet once again alone in the sitting room, at her work. She was the most still of all her sisters. Even Miss Mary with her books could not match her calm contentment.

"I believe, Miss Bennet, that by the end of the day I may find myself lacking employment."

She raised her eyes to him. "I trust your prospects will not be materially damaged, sir."

"Our prospects remain quite good, yes."

She paused in her work, her needle suspended in the air for a moment, then she set her work aside. "Mr. Bingley, may I speak with you a moment?"

There was a certain gravity in her voice that made him tense. The engagement was still secret. Now that her cousin was no longer a threat, perhaps she had reconsidered.

"If you like," he said, endeavoring to keep the fear from his voice. He crossed the room and sat down beside her.

She took a breath. "When you made your offer you said that you did not expect that I felt as you did, but that you hoped I would, in time."

"I am prepared to give you as much time as you need, I do not expect that you will--"

She stopped him with her hand on his. "Please, let me finish." He nodded. "I know I am not always a very demonstrative person. It has never been in my nature to force my emotions on others. I only wish you to know that..." She drew a deep breath. "I do love you. I have loved you for some time. You interested me from nearly the first time I spoke to you and I am very glad, very grateful, very pleased, and very honored that you have asked me to be your wife. I love you. I wanted you to know."

He laughed, a laugh of perfect joy, and kissed her hand.

"Do you? Have you? I thought perhaps you had regard, but I dared not let myself hope that you loved me."

"I have had regard since before I knew who you truly were and...what I felt for you, I could not stop myself from feeling it, though I feared that nothing could ever be between us."

"Could you have loved me as your father's servant?"

"I could have loved you, but I could never have married you. Whatever my mother says, I do feel my duty to my family. Yet, I would sometimes indulge myself by thinking that perhaps you might find better employment. Had you worked for my uncle, or been able to raise yourself somehow, perhaps..." She shook her head. "It does not signify now."

"No, it does not."

He took her hand in his, running his thumb back and forth over her wrist. "My love." It was the first time he had used such an endearment, and he took delight in the blush it brought to her cheeks. An urge struck him and he was too giddy to deny it. "May I have a lock of your hair, Jane?"

She looked down. "I do not think that would be entirely proper. The engagement is still secret."

"Yet we _are_ engaged. Surely a lover who has pledged his heart to a woman may ask such a token, even if his love must be kept secret."

She raised her eyes, and he saw such reluctance that he was prepared to withdraw the request, but then she nodded shyly, and reached into her work bag for a pair of scissors. He took them with a hand that trembled as she turned so that her back was to him. Her curls fell about her shoulders. He lifted one section of hair, deliberately brushing against her neck and delighting in the gasp it drew from her. He felt the soft strands between his fingers. She gave him a short length of ribbon over her shoulder. He tied a section of hair and carefully cut a few inches of her dark blonde curls.

He leaned forward, closed his eyes, and smelled the scent of orange flowers. He was so close to her that had he but turned, he would have brushed his lips against her neck. "I will treasure this."

She had no chance to reply before the door was abruptly thrown open and Mrs. Bennet walked in, followed by Mr. Collins.


	14. Chapter 14

There could be no doubt, no possibility of misinterpretation. Their positions on the couch, his lips so near her neck, this alone would have condemned them. The scissors still on Bingley's lap, the lock of hair in his hand, the happy blush on both of their cheeks, all of this only added detail and plainly communicated what they were about.

Mrs. Bennet screamed. Bingley came to his feet, the scissors falling to the floor unheeded. Jane rose beside him. She had gone white, her lips quivered slightly, but no sound emerged from her. She looked ready to faint dead away. Bingley had never hated himself as he did at that moment.

She did not faint. She instead linked her arm with his. Her face was set, her mouth was in a determined line.

Mr. Collins lifted himself up, puffed up with self-righteous pride and indignation.

"Madam, I beg your leave to explain," Bingley said, but he doubted very much that Mrs. Bennet had heard him. She screamed for her husband and her salts, she fanned herself, and she fell backward into a chair.

"Mama--"

"Wicked, horrible, foolish child! You have ruined us all!"

"Mama, please--"

Mr. Bennet entered then. Bingley tried again to speak, but Mrs. Bennet's shrieks and cries made it difficult to be heard.

"Oh Mr. Bennet! Oh, we are ruined! She has disgraced us all! With the servant! What are we to do? No one will see us! The girls, they will all die old maids! Wicked girl! You care nothing for your family!"

"Please, Papa, let me explain."

"What is there to explain?" Mr. Collins asked. "I have only to be grateful that my kindnesses were rejected and that I now can take solace with a wife of moral uprightness, which is far more valuable than any outward beauty. To think that I risked being wed to a fallen woman, that I would have brought her into company with Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself! She is little better than a common--"

Mr. Collins was of a tall stature, and heavy. He had a full inch and at least two dozen pounds on Bingley. Yet as Bingley came across the room in a rage and Mr. Collins shrank back from him, it seemed almost the reverse.

"Do not you dare finish that sentence!"

Mr. Collins recovered himself. "I am not to be ordered about by a common servant. Mr. Bennet, will you not restrain your man? How could such a thing have taken place under your very own roof? It is nearly too much to know myself forever linked with such wickedness, to know that I was nearly drawn in by this--this _strumpet's_ machinations."

"Were you not Jane's cousin..."

"A ruffian and a brawler and a savage! He threatens me!"

"Mr. Collins, you will be quiet!" Mr. Bennet shouted.

The room fell silent but for the sound of Mrs. Bennet sobbing and wailing and bemoaning herself.

Bingley saw Miss Elizabeth at the door. She looked greatly distressed, but she had kept command of herself. The younger girls were behind her, attempting to peek into the room. Miss Elizabeth sent them away in a tone that not even Miss Lydia dared to disregard.

Bingley looked at Jane. She appeared to be upright only by sheer force of will. He walked back to her and took her arm, leading her to the sofa, and speaking to her softly, telling her to sit. Miss Elizabeth flew to her sister as soon as he had released her, holding her hand and stroking her cheek. In that moment, Bingley loved her as well as he had ever loved his own sisters, though the look she gave him was very unkind.

"I see that I have done myself and my family a grave disservice by disregarding the cautions of Mrs. Hill, the fretting of my own daughter, even my own suspicions."

"You have every right to be angry with me," Bingley said.

Mr. Collins cleared his throat. "Though I myself gave in to anger earlier, as is only just when faced with wanton and immoral conduct--"

Mr. Bennet turned to him. "Sir, this matter does not involve you. Please absent yourself from this room."

Mr. Collins looked for a moment flustered, but he bowed and muttered something that no one paid any mind to. As he left, Bingley saw Mr. Gallagher in the hall. He wondered if this had been what Fitzwilliam had hoped for when he had asked for a distraction.

"Elizabeth, take your mother out of here."

"But Jane--"

"Jane has thrown off her family, it seems. She has no more right to your affections than a stranger walking past."

"You cannot mean that. I will not leave her."

"Do as I say!" Mr. Bennet snapped.

Jane removed her sister's hand from her cheek. "Please Lizzy, take Mama upstairs. She should rest."

Miss Elizabeth finally nodded and rose. Mrs. Bennet had stopped all of her shouting and was only sobbing uncontrollably.

"Oh Lizzy!" she cried when her daughter helped her to her feet. "Oh Lizzy, what are we to do?"

When they had gone, Jane let free one choked sob. She had the back of her hand pressed against her mouth, her head bent. "I am sorry, Papa. You were not meant to find out this way."

"How was I to find out then?" He turned to Bingley. "Did you think to walk into my study and ask me for my daughter's hand?"

Yes, though perhaps with some explanations first. "Not precisely."

Mr. Bennet shook his head in disgust. "You have given him your handkerchief and your hair."

"Mr. Bingley and I are to be married," Jane said.

"Mr. Bingley is it? And have you allowed Mr. Bingley to compromise you? Have you lost your virtue as well as your senses?"

"No!" Bingley said. Jane seemed unable to speak at all.

Mr. Bennet shook his head again, pacing the room. Before Bingley could speak again, he stopped, seemingly at a decision. "Charles, you will leave this house at once and you will never return. You may gather your things, but I expect that you will be gone within the half of the hour. Jane, you are free to stay or go with him as you choose. If you go with him, you will never enter this house again as my daughter, and I am quite well stocked for maids."

"Sir--" Bingley began.

Mr. Bennet disregarded him. "If you choose to stay, Jane, I will trust that this affair is entirely at an end. If I learn that it is not, I will put you from my house. Do you understand me?"

"Sir, please allow me to explain--"

"I have a wife in hysterics, four daughters to attend to, and a fool of a parson who will no doubt assault me with his dubious wisdom the moment I leave this room. This scandal will be spread throughout the county by day's end, and my family's reputation will be tarnished regardless of Jane's choice. I cannot conceive of an explanation that would satisfy." He paused in this angry speech and rubbed his forehead. With a sigh he added, "You are, however, welcome to try."

Bingley, who had not actually expected such an opportunity, was now struck somewhat dumb. He could not in good conscience reveal everything, and Fitzwilliam would string him up by his thumbs if he dared.

"I--I am--my name is Charles Bingley."

"I did know that," Mr. Bennet said dryly.

"Yes, sir. I currently reside on Grosvenor Street, in London, in the Mayfair district. Some of what I have told you about myself is a lie. I was educated by my uncle, who was a curate. However, I was sent to Eton when I was seven, and later attended Oxford."

Mr. Bennet's eyebrows rose. He seated himself in a wing chair. A good deal of the anger had drained from his expression and he was regarding Bingley as though he were the afternoon's entertainment. "And, ah, your rank?"

"Gentleman commoner."

Mr. Bennet narrowed his eyes. "I hope you are not about to tell me you gambled your fortune away."

"No sir. I doubt there is a man alive that has not one vice, but if you were to search for mine, you would not discover it at the gaming tables. I...I..."

"Mister Bingley lost a bet, Papa."

Bingley turned to her. Jane shrugged almost imperceptibly.

"I did!" Bingley cried. "Lord Ashbourne and I have been friends for nearly two years, and we very often play billiards in the evenings." Once the story had been planted in his head, he had no trouble embellishing it. "We are terribly competitive, I am sorry to say, and one late evening after very many matches and the number of games won tied at six to six, and, to own the truth, after a great many spirits had been imbibed, money no longer seemed a sufficient wager to place on the game. Two months work as a servant in the house of a country gentleman was deemed a good deal more...motivating. A good deal more likely to hold the interest of both parties. I lost."

"I see. I trust Lord Ashbourne will confirm your tale."

Bingley cleared his throat. "Yes, sir." He hoped. "I had no designs when I came here but to serve my sentence in peace. The entire affair has been mortifying, and for the first several weeks it was my intention to return to London without anyone ever knowing about any of this, however--" He looked at Jane. "If I did not love your daughter with all my heart, I would not have...even after I knew I loved her, I had planned to wait, but then Mr. Collins came and...I could not risk losing her. I could not."

"Jane is far too sensible to have accepted that man," Mr. Bennet said. "I would have been sorry to see her consigned to such a fate, in any case."

Jane looked down at her hands. Bingley wanted to tell Mr. Bennet that he vastly underestimated his daughter's desire to please everyone in her life, and that as her father he had a responsibility to protect her, but now was not the time to comment on the man's choices as a parent. Bingley said only, "I could not risk it."

"And so you chose to make love to her under the guise of a servant."

"Miss Bennet has known who I am for several weeks. She accepted a gentleman of means, not a servant. Jane--Miss Bennet is not at fault."

"Jane is very much at fault for failing to tell me what she knew."

"My...wager."

"Was worth more than my daughter's honor? Do you think your generation is the first to be absurd? Do you think I have not known young men in my life who have done things just as foolish? I would have kept you employed if I had known. I would have kept your secret and laughed at it the entire time. Jane should have told me."

"I am sorry, sir," Jane said.

Mr. Bennet shook his head. "Do you really want to marry this man, Jane?"

"I do, sir."

Mr. Bennet looked him over. "I am going to be magnanimous and assume that there is more to him than I have thus far seen."

"He is kind and gentle and we have a great deal in common. He is exceptionally loyal, and very good to his friends. He is good to everyone! When I talk to him, I feel as though I could tell him anything. He is exactly what a young man should be, and I--"

Mr. Bennet held up his hand. "Yes, yes, save it for your letters. I have no doubt an engagement will raise my paper costs considerably."

"Have we your blessing, then?"

"Do you love her?"

"She is everything to me."

"Will you take care of her?"

"Of course."

"I am hardly in a position to deny you. The rumors have no doubt already spread. Dependent upon Lord Ashbourne confirming your story, you have my blessing. Marry him, Jane. I like him well enough despite everything. If nothing else, he will prove a diverting sort of son in law."

Bingley could have collapsed with relief. "Thank you, sir."

"I will write to Lord Ashbourne. You and Jane will stay here, in the company of Elizabeth, while I do so. She, I trust, will be able to manage you."

"Thank you," Bingley said again.

"Hmm. How much do you have?"

"Ah. About five thousand a year. Three thousand five hundred pounds comes from the Navy Fives. The rest depends upon my investments, domestic and overseas. They were doing well when I left, and my solicitor had orders to contact me if any serious matters arose, so I assume all continues to be well. There is a plantation in India that I am especially hopeful will yield a good return." He was rambling, but at least he was rambling about something he knew.

"Yes, yes. Well, you may not thank me later. I will charge you with telling my wife. You may find her approval more trying than her disapprobation." He paused. "Though, when you have done that, I will also give you the pleasure of telling Mr. Collins. That, I trust, you will enjoy."

Bingley tried not to smile, but he suspected he would.

*

Miss Elizabeth was called down to sit with them, and informed of the supposed truth while Mr. Bennet retired to his study to write to Lord Ashbourne. She took the news much as her father had, first with something akin to anger, and then with resigned amusement.

After she had satisfied herself that her sister was well, she seemed content to leave the lovers to themselves, and seated herself on the far side of the room with a book.

Bingley, though curious about what had become of Mr. Gallagher, Fitzwilliam and Miss Audley, saw no way to inquire after them without compromising himself. To own the truth, he was far too happy to be allowed to play the proper and attentive lover to Jane to concern himself overmuch with things he could not know.

They were free to talk at their leisure, and though their conversation had at first a few false starts, they soon hit a comfortable stride.

"I saw George Cooke as Othello last year, and he impressed me very much. Oh, and you must see Sarah Siddons as Lady Macbeth. I know you do not care for tragedy, but it is not a performance to be missed."

"Do you live on Drury Lane, Mr. Bingley?" Miss Elizabeth asked, looking at him over the top of her book.

"It sometimes seems so," Bingley said with a laugh. He looked at Jane who was regarding him with a small smile. "What?"

"Your hair."

"It is badly in need of a trim."

"Yes, but I like it very much."

"It is red. I would previously darken it at times with a lead comb, but a friend of mine who has studied physic tells me that will eventually poison me. He feels that living with red hair is preferable to being poisoned, but I will note that he does not have red hair."

Jane shook her head. "I like it very much just as it is."

He touched her hand. "Then I like it better than I ever have before."

She glanced at her sister and lowered her voice. "When shall I take my own lock of hair?"

"Whenever--"

They were interrupted by Mr. Bennet entering the room with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam was smiling slightly, and did not appear troubled, but Bingley thought he detected a tension around his eyes.

He greeted all in the room politely and said, "I regret that my brother is not at present available to speak for Mr. Bingley, but as I am entirely acquainted with the terms of the bet, I believe I can vouch for the gentleman."

Given the events of the day, Bingley suspected that Ashbourne's absence was news to be celebrated, but he followed Fitzwilliam's lead and kept his face neutral.

"Sir, I do hope that this has not caused undue hardship for you. Bingley can be impulsive and somewhat foolish at times, but he is a good man." He favored Bingley with a nod, and Bingley nodded back, suspecting that "impulsive and somewhat foolish" was a very restrained account of Fitzwilliam's opinion of him.

Bingley was then made to fulfill his bargain with Mr. Bennet, and inform Mrs. Bennet of the truth, such as it was. Mrs. Bennet's effusions were indeed far more trying than her hysterics, and she repeated his income so many times, he was soon very tired of hearing it.

"Five thousand a year! A house in London! Good heavens! Oh, Jane! Dear Jane! I knew your beauty would bring good fortune! Such a sweet child, is she not, Mr. Bingley? She has always been a darling girl. There is not a better natured young lady in all England. Five thousand a year! My word! And good friends with Lord Ashbourne, I understand. Well! Lord Ashbourne is welcome here at any time. I have four other girls, you see. Five thousand a year!"

Bingley caught Fitzwilliam's eye. The other man looked less amused than annoyed, and Bingley perceived that he wished very much to be gone from the house. He declined, therefore, the pleasure of informing Mr. Collins of his actual rank, and of seeing Mrs. Hill. After Fitzwilliam explained that Lord Ashbourne was very desirous of seeing Bingley, and after Bingley parted with Jane with all the reluctance befitting a lover, they were in the carriage headed to Netherfield.

"I suppose I will be shortly wishing your brother joy," Bingley said as soon as he heard the coachman drive the horses forward.

"No," Fitzwilliam said.

"Were you unable to effect the escape of Miss Audley?"

"Miss Audley is well, and free."

"How?"

Fitzwilliam's smile was genuine. "Miss Cunningham has recently left the house of Mr. Gallagher, along with her maid, in the company of her brother." Seeing Bingley's confused look, he continued. "Her brother arrived this morning to take the young lady to London, so that she might have the benefit of superior medical care. It was an odd, quick business to be sure, and some did think it better that her departure be delayed until the return of Mr. Gallagher, but none of the servants dared question the matter as both Nell and Miss Cunningham herself vouched to the identity of the man, and Miss Cunningham was most eager to leave. The affair might have been further complicated by the heavy door and secure lock which held Miss Cunningham to her room, but fortunately the friend of Miss Cunningham's brother has some experience opening locks even when he is not in possession of a proper key, and can do so with such haste that a casual observer, distracted by conversation, might be excused from failing to notice the lack of such a key."

Bingley grinned. "I suppose Ashbourne was the brother you speak of."

"No, Edgeworth. I wrote to him yesterday, express. I could not risk Ashbourne being recognized and, frankly, I did not trust my brother to keep his head with his paramour so near." He shook his head. "'tis fortunate that Gallagher was always so secretive about his 'niece'. Had anyone known the first thing about her, the ruse never would have worked."

"And have they not gone? Are they not for Scotland?"

"No," Fitzwilliam said. "Miss Audley is at present in the company of Mr. Edgeworth and her maid, at Netherfield."

"Where is Ashbourne?"

Fitzwilliam grimaced. "I seem to have misplaced my brother."

"Misplaced?"

"Ashbourne was to meet with Lord Dorset and Lord Walden at Netherfield under the ruse of trading the documents you obtained from Mr. Ridgeway for the freedom to marry Miss Audley. They had only just arrived when I left. When I returned, they were gone. I questioned the servants, and they said that Ashbourne had left with the two men."

"That seems a dangerous thing, to leave Ashbourne alone with such men."

"I hardly had much of a choice," Fitzwilliam said.

"Surely you could have thought of some way--"

"Could I have?" Fitzwilliam demanded. "Do you think I wanted to put my brother in danger? I had less than a day to come up with a way to free Miss Audley. Someone betrayed my plans to Dorset, and I have had to scramble to keep ahead of him. It is not as though I have been at liberty to devote my whole mind to the matter. I have had to deal with my brother's eccentricities for weeks. The man is trial enough when he is in his right mind, do you have any idea what he is like when he is out of his mind with worry and fretting like a woman? I did the best I bloody could under the circumstances, and I will thank you to keep your judgements of my competence to yourself until we have found Andrew!"

Bingley said nothing, and only waited.

Fitzwilliam scrubbed at his eyes. "I beg your pardon."

"Quite alright."

"I could strangle the life out of the man most of the time, but he is my brother. I could never face my mother if he were--" He shook his head.

"We will discover him."

Fitzwilliam was silent for the remainder of the ride. The footman who had always been superior with him opened the door to them, and gave him a very confused look as he walked in next to Fitzwilliam. Edgeworth met them in the hall. He had a bulky, but not portly, build, slightly on the taller side of average. He was a handsome sort of man, but though he was only seven and twenty, his hair had largely gone.

"I took the liberty of writing to your valet and having your trunk sent from London shortly after I arrived," Fitzwilliam said. "It is waiting for you in the blue room. Go to the top of the stairs and turn left. It will be the first door you see. I hope you do not mind my being so forward." Bingley certainly did not.

"When you have changed, you are free to join us in the parlor," Edgeworth said. "I am sure you will be _eager_ to have the _privilege_ of meeting Miss Audley."

The emphasis did not go unnoticed by Bingley, but he was too keen to put on his own clothing to be attentive to it just then. He found his room easily, and was happy to see that it had been prepared for him, with his trunk set out, though not properly unpacked.

He dressed simply in dark tan trousers and put a double-breasted waistcoat of a similar color over his white frilled shirt. He arranged his cravat in an Irish tie before putting on his blue coat. His coat was almost too tight in the arms. He had put on muscle, it seemed.

When he felt fit to be seen in genteel company, he found his way to the parlor. Though the house was large and the parlors many, he had no trouble finding Edgeworth and the others. He needed only follow the shouting.

"I will not calm myself! Such incompetence is not to be borne. How can you possibly have lost him?"

Bingley entered the parlor to see Edgeworth seated by the fire, his face hidden behind his newspaper. Fitzwilliam stood in what could only be called confrontation with the lady that Bingley assumed was Miss Audley.

She turned to him when he entered. Had he been of a mind to be objective, he might have thought Miss Audley was the equal to Miss Bennet in beauty, but as he was not of such a mind, he thought her only a very pretty girl. She was not showing her beauty to best effect, however. Her light blue eyes flashed dangerously and her mouth was twisted in an expression of derision while her hair, clearly pinned up in haste, seemed in constant danger of falling free of its arrangement.

"Who are you?" she demanded, as he entered.

"Mr. Charles Bingley, ma'am."

"Are you as incompetent as your friends?"

"Yes," Bingley said agreeably. "And infinitely more so."

Fitzwilliam snorted at that. Miss Audley only glared at him before turning back to Fitzwilliam. That man appeared to be regretting his part in freeing her, and perhaps even to be contemplating whether he could lock her in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Before anyone else could speak, a footman entered and gave a calling card to Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam stared at it in shock, but nodded. A few minutes later, a man entered the room while the footman announced, "Lord Walden."


	15. Chapter 15

Lord Walden stood before them for several long moments before anyone spoke.

The first person to break the silence was Miss Audley, who crossed the room in a rage and, Bingley imagined, was prepared to strike Lord Walden before she appeared to think better of it and only exclaimed, "You scoundrel! I shall see you hung! I shall see you drawn and quartered!"

Lord Walden paled at that. "I would like to make it very clear that I never, in all my wildest imaginings, considered that my father might commit treason. I had no part in what he has done, and I disclaim all association with the man."

"Where is my brother?" Fitzwilliam asked, as Miss Audley demanded, "Where is Lord Ashbourne?"

"I shall tell you all I know, in proper order." Lord Walden cast a glance around the room. "There are a great many people in this room," he said. "Perhaps it would be best if Miss Audley were to go to her room to rest."

Miss Audley glared at him with such intensity that Bingley was surprised that Lord Walden did not burst into flames. "I will _not_ be sent away."

"The lady has a right to be here," Fitzwilliam said, sounding rather unhappy that it was the case. "I trust Edgeworth, and I intend to keep Mr. Bingley away from all pretty women until I have recovered my brother."

Lord Walden's mouth twisted into a pained frown, but he nodded and asked only a glass of brandy before beginning his story.

He moved to seat himself by the fire, but Miss Audley was too quick for him and took the seat for herself. It seemed entirely an act of spite, for she had a warm shawl about her shoulders and Lord Walden's clothing was wet from a misting rain that had covered the countryside. Lord Walden shook his head and took another chair. He drank liberally from his glass before beginning.

"I do not doubt that you all bear me a certain amount of ill will for my part in the--yes, I will say it--the unjust imprisonment of my cousin. Though I doubt the lady will admit it, I was never her principal jailer. To own the truth, I never wished to marry Miss Audley. We are no good friends, she and I." He gave her a tight smile, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "I resisted my father's plans, but there was little I could do, unless I wished to be tossed penniless into the streets to wait until he died."

"You lie very well," Miss Audley said. "Your mother left you ten thousand pounds and an estate in Shropshire."

"Eight hundred a year and that drafty old house? You expect me to live on that?"

"Better that I should live in one room?"

Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. He seemed to have perfected the art; it brought an instant return to the business of the day.

"I tried to convince my father to give up his plans of uniting our estates, but he insisted that the fortunes must be joined. I then tried to reason with my cousin. A marriage need not have been entirely miserable for either of us. I would not have held her to her vows anymore than I intended to keep mine. She could have done as she wished. She would not see reason."

"I would not see wickedness and adultery as acceptable."

"When I discovered the intended elopement between Miss Audley and Lord Ashbourne, I was elated." Miss Audley stared at him in indignant shock. "Yes, I discovered it. You were far too happy, too content that week. You have always been a miserable thing, I knew something was afoot. I searched your room and found his letter. You should have burned it."

Miss Audley gave the impression of a fish who had found itself inconveniently out of the water. She gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing, before blurting out, "I tried to burn it! It was the first time he had ever signed his Christian name!"

"It seemed the solution to my troubles, and I was very anxious that all would proceed without delay. Unfortunately, I mentioned my anxieties to a man that I thought was a friend, and he, in an attempt to ingratiate himself with an even more powerful ally, told my father, though he kept my name out of the matter. Miss Audley was renamed Miss Cunningham and shipped off to Hertfordshire, and I was left to regret that she was not Lady Ashbourne and consequently no longer my concern."

He drank the last of his brandy and got up to refill his cup. "After six months I came to Hertfordshire without my father's knowledge. My plan was to end this one way or another. Either I would convince my cousin to marry me, or I would aid her in eloping with her intended. I found her even less rational than I had last left her." He gestured to two parallel scratch marks on his cheek. "Courtesy of Miss Audley."

"You had designs on my person."

"I had no such thing. You have wanted my blood since you were seven years old!"

"You tormented me! You have hated me since I came into your house."

"I never hated you. You are the closest thing I have to a sister." He paused, apparently wondering at his own words. "No wonder the thought of marrying you turned my stomach."

He seated himself again. "Shortly after I arrived, I saw Mr. Bingley in Meryton. I could not be certain, but I thought I knew him from elsewhere. I asked Mr. Gallagher about him, careful not to reveal too much--Mr. Gallagher knows very little of my family's affairs, and I would prefer that it remain so. Mr. Gallagher told me that he was Mr. Bennet's new man. When I learned that Lord Ashbourne had taken Netherfield, I began to suspect that the two were related, though I could not quite ascertain what plan to free Miss Audley would involve placing Mr. Bingley as a servant in Mr. Bennet's house, or why Lord Ashbourne could not simply bribe a servant already in the house."

Bingley slumped down in his seat, glad he was positioned away from the general focus of the room. If he left Hertfordshire with any semblance of dignity intact, he would never again do anything that even hinted at intrigue.

"Did you have the dish planted to test your theory?" Fitzwilliam asked. "You wished to know whether Bingley was in fact a gentleman?"

"No, I simply wanted him gone. What Lord Ashbourne's plan was, or what Mr. Bingley had to do with it was of no concern to me. It served my interests to remove the man from his place, so I did, or attempted to do so. Mr. Gallagher said that Mr. Ridgeway was the sort of man who would do most anything for enough coin, so I paid him ten guineas to plant the dish."

"You did not know Mr. Ridgeway was an associate of your father?"

"I did not. Neither did Mr. Gallagher. What my father was plotting with Mr. Ridgeway was his business and his alone. I knew nothing of it," he said the last with an almost frantic intensity before recovering himself. "I know not why the plan to remove Mr. Bingley from Longbourn failed." He looked to Bingley. "How did you know the dish had been planted? How did you hide it before your room was searched?"

"I knew nothing of it. I still do not know who protected me that day."

Fitzwilliam frowned. Clearly he was unhappy that the mystery had not yet been solved.

Lord Walden continued his tale. "I had little time to come up with a new plan for removing Mr. Bingley from his place before my father arrived. My father was very surprised to find me in Hertfordshire, and less than pleased. We quarreled, and having been privileged to spend a great deal of time in my cousin's company for several days, I informed him in no uncertain terms that I would not marry the young lady under any circumstances. I was surprised when he seemed unconcerned with this statement. He seemed rather distracted, in fact. Lord Ashbourne's note arrived the next morning. The note was vague. I could not fathom what documents Lord Ashbourne was referring to, and my father's agitation was extreme. When we arrived, my first thought was to tell Lord Ashbourne that Miss Audley was entirely his, if he wanted her, though I would have advised him against it."

"I would advice against marrying you," Miss Audley muttered darkly. The entire room looked at her. She huffed. "I have been locked up for months. My wit is out of practice."

Lord Walden rolled his eyes. "However, as I thought Lord Ashbourne in possession of some important business documents, I was determined not to harm my father materially. If I had known--" He shook his head and turned to Fitzwilliam. "Your brother has not the disposition for such a...negotiation as the one he attempted that morning. My father was in such a state of agitation and Lord Ashbourne dealt badly with the confrontation. He completely shut down and said hardly anything, which did nothing to calm my father, who finally became enraged and took a pistol from his pocket. He demanded to know if you had the papers in question and when Lord Ashbourne said that you did, my father...I cannot know exactly his train of thought at that moment, but what I do know is that he took your brother as his prisoner, and walked out of the house with him, holding his pistol to his side."

He stopped and rubbed his forehead. "Had I been of a steadier mind at that moment, I might have done something to put a stop to it. Locking up his own ward is nothing, but kidnapping the son of Lord Buxton--your father is not a man one crosses lightly."

"No, he is not," Fitzwilliam said softly.

"I was not of a steady mind, and I simply followed. It was not until we were in the carriage that I demanded an explanation." He laughed then, a sort of hysterical laugh that Bingley was too familiar with. "It seems I have a bastard brother in France. A few years ago he murdered a whore, and he was sentenced to die for it. Instead of doing what any sane man would do, and leaving the fool to his fate, my father made a deal with a French judge. A bit of bribery was all it was on that occasion. My brother later murdered another woman, the mistress of a powerful politician. Bribery was not enough this time, but he succeeded in making another deal, in time. He stole secret documents and--" He laughed again. "He agreed to turn them over in exchange for my brother's life."

Lord Walden fell silent then, and stared into his empty brandy cup.

"What happened to my brother?" Fitzwilliam asked, when the silence stretched too long.

"I...I confess I was rather...the argument left me somewhat discomposed. There were things that were said that I... My father has a small shooting box about an hour from here. He had taken us all there and I left. I left when my father was distracted."

"And you left my brother to his fate? You left my brother with a man who, the more I hear of him, I begin to think seems slightly mad."

"I was not then in full possession of my faculties. I took a horse and I rode. I had hardly a destination in mind, but as I came back to myself, I thought of my responsibilities to my country, and I came here. I had had some time to think by then, and I realized that you must have known something of my father's activities. It was the only explanation that made any sense."

The grave silence that descended the room was broken by Miss Audley.

"What do we do now?"

Fitzwilliam regarded her. "You have been through a great deal, and I believe you are in need of rest."

"I will not be--"

"Yes, you will," Fitzwilliam said. "There are things to discuss, things that are not fit for the ears of a lady. I have let you stay thus far because you are my brother's intended, and you have a right to know his situation, but now you will leave me to handle this."

He spoke not unkindly, but firmly. She glared at him with great anger, but obeyed, though she slammed the door as she left.

"Bingley, perhaps you should see to the young lady."

Bingley knew a dismissal when he was presented with one. He supposed he ought to have been insulted to be dismissed along with the woman, but he was only relieved. He was tired of intrigue, and secrets, and he was glad to leave it to those who were better suited to such things.

He found Miss Audley stomping her way up and down the length of an empty sitting room. Her anger was so different from Jane's quiet fretting that he smiled. Unfortunately, she saw his smile and turned to him.

"What do you want?"

Bingley blinked. "Nothing whatsoever," he said, and went upstairs to attempt to formulate a letter to his sisters.

*

Fitzwilliam knocked on his door later that night. Bingley, who had been staring at a blank sheet of paper for nearly an hour, was glad of the interruption.

"We have formulated a plan," Fitzwilliam said.

"Please do not tell me what it is," Bingley said, in all earnestness.

Fitzwilliam smiled. "I had not planned to. But I do need one thing from you. The packet of papers you planted in Mr. Ridgeway's office. I need them returned to me."

"I do not see how I can possibly make my way to his office unnoticed, not now."

"You cannot, but surely there must be one among the servants whom you can trust with the task."

Matty came into his mind immediately. "There is."

"By tomorrow, then?"

"I will do my best."

Fitzwilliam nodded absently, but made no move to leave.

"Did you need something else?"

"Miss Audley."

Bingley smiled. "She is not what I expected."

"No," Fitzwilliam said with a rueful smile. "I wonder if she is what my brother expected. People are sometimes very different on paper."

Bingley offered him a seat by the fire, and Fitzwilliam took it. The curtains were open, but the daylight had gone; the room was illuminated by the fire and several candles. Bingley had perhaps lit more than he strictly needed, but he had never before appreciated the simple luxury of having as many candles as he liked--and candles of wax that burned with a clean scent rather than filling the air with the odor of tallow.

"I think we ought not to be too hard on Miss Audley. She has been through a great deal. Her anger is born out of concern for Ashbourne. She is spirited, certainly, but some men do prefer that."

"Does Ashbourne, do you think?" Fitzwilliam asked. Bingley's surprise must have registered because he said, "You are perhaps my brother's closest friend. You understand him better than I ever could."

Bingley gave the question all the thought it was due. "I do not know what he wants, or what caused him to fall in love with Miss Audley. I have never before seen Ashbourne show any real interest in a woman. He has always been so uncomfortable around them. I know he has wanted to be more forward at times, but it is hard for him and when he is in unfamiliar company he becomes so..."

"Queer."

"Yes. My concern is that Miss Audley does not understand him. It would be a very bad thing if she were to demand more from him than he can give."

Fitzwilliam rubbed his forehead. "It never has been a matter of desire, has it?"

"Of what do you speak?"

"My brother and what we all so politely call his eccentricities. I have always been frustrated with him; he is so perfectly normal in private, and yet in company he is rude and says the most impolite things, or he says nothing and stands against the wall looking disagreeable. Do you know my cousin, Mr. Darcy?"

"I was introduced to him by Ashbourne and have seen him a little in society."

"Darcy also prefers the company he knows. He can make himself agreeable in a ballroom, if he wants to, but he rarely puts forth the effort. That is a choice. I begin to doubt that Ashbourne can do anything other than what he does."

Bingley opened his mouth to speak, and then thought better of it, but Fitzwilliam caught the expression. He did not ask, only said, "I want very much to understand my brother."

Bingley hesitated. "I do not know if he would appreciate me speaking to you of it."

"I will not press you, but if there is anything you feel you can in good conscience share with me, I would appreciate it."

"You are correct; it is not a matter of desire. I have seen how much he wants to make himself agreeable, but it is not in his nature." He paused, trying to think of a way to explain without betraying confidence. He would not speak of how distressed Ashbourne was at times. He would not tell the secret of the times when they had returned from this ball or that dinner and Ashbourne had once again taken refuge in Bingley's house, how he sat berating himself for all his failures that evening, real and supposed, while Bingley tried to reason him down from his irrationality. He certainly would not tell about the time that Ashbourne paid an actress to flirt with him, thinking that if he practiced where he felt safe, he might well do better when he dealt with women in the public sphere. That had not ended well. "Have you ever seen the exhibitions of electricity?"

"Of course."

"I have always been fascinated by it, and I want to understand it. I have asked many people to explain it to me, and they have, in many different ways. I cannot tell you the first thing about the current theories of how electricity works. I am still fascinated by it, but it is beyond my ability to understand."

"Being polite in society is not electricity. It does not take a scientific mind to understand it."

"No, it does not, but it takes a mind unlike that which your brother possesses."

Fitzwilliam was silent for a long time. "Surely you are not suggesting that he should not even try."

"I am not. He does try. Perhaps sometimes the harder he tries, the less he succeeds, which must be..."

"Terrifically frustrating."

"More so than either of us can imagine."

Fitzwilliam fell silent again. At length, he rose and said, "You are the most abysmal agent of espionage I have ever met with. You are, however, also the best friend my brother could possibly have." He held out his hand. "I hope I can count you among my friends as well."

Bingley shook his hand. "Of course."

Fitzwilliam moved to leave, but stopped and looked back. "Regarding the papers tomorrow..."

"Yes?"

He sighed. "Try not to bungle it too badly."

Bingley smiled. "I shall do my best."

Fitzwilliam grimaced, but left him without another word. Bingley supposed that, like Ashbourne's attempts at politeness, sometimes his best left a great deal to be desired.


	16. Chapter 16

Despite every intention to the contrary, Bingley woke the next morning before dawn. He lay awake in the darkness, relishing the feeling of being completely at his ease, at least for the next several hours. The bed, with its soft linen sheets and several blankets, and its bed curtains pulled tight, was almost too warm, but he stayed as he was. He had not been warm--had not been warm and at rest, the flush that came of hard work was another matter entirely--for weeks.

The scrape of metal on coal roused him. He cast off the blankets and slipped from the bed. The maid knelt by the fire, and he quickly tossed on his dressing gown before she turned.

The maid startled when she saw that he had risen. "Begging your pardon, sir. I do hope I didn't wake you."

"No. Do not concern yourself, I was already awake."

She finished her task then, and rose to leave, but Bingley called her back.

"Sir?"

"What is your name?"

"Sarah Smith, sir."

"You know Rose, who works at Longbourn."

"Yes, sir."

She looked vastly uncomfortable, and Bingley could not have said why he had begun the conversation. "Have some tea sent up to my room."

"Yes, sir," Sarah said. She appeared quite relieved to have the exchange returned to the familiar.

Bingley went through his trunk. Frederick had sent him several suits of clothing, his pocket watch, his toothpick, and, fortunately, his spare razor and grooming kit. He had left his other kit at Longbourn, and could not conceive of asking for it to be returned to him.

Dressed, he went downstairs and found the house bereft of all but the servants. He had risen earlier than anyone, it seemed. A few of the servants paid him notice, some giving him very odd looks. He checked the time and found it was not much past seven o'clock. A passing footman told him breakfast was served at half past ten, which seemed terribly late, though at his house in London they rarely breakfasted before eleven, and during the season nearer to noon.

With nothing more to do with his time, he ordered himself a light breakfast and sat in the sitting room, pouring over nearly six weeks of neglected correspondence. Ashbourne had had the foresight to have his mail forwarded to Netherfield through Edgeworth's estate in Durham.

He dealt with business first. Presented with letters containing nothing but figures and numbers, and factual comments about plantations and mines, he felt himself on solid ground for the first time in weeks. He collected all of the newspapers he had missed and skimmed each one, looking for any news that might affect his investments, then answered the letters that needed to be answered. Most of his replies were even legible.

The personal letters took longer. To begin, there were a great many of them, and though Bingley had no reputation as a superior correspondent, it seemed his absence had been long enough that a great deal of his acquaintances had a great deal to say to him. Some people had written two or three times. He had not thought his temporary withdraw from society would be so noticed. He answered nearly all of them, in varying degrees of completeness and legibility, and had only just left off from the task when Fitzwilliam entered the room shortly before ten.

"I did not think you an early riser," Fitzwilliam said.

"I am not, by habit. My uncle would have an apoplexy if he were to see me."

The rest of the party came down shortly after. As Bingley knew nothing of the plan to rescue Ashbourne, he mostly ignored the glances shared by Lord Walden, Edgeworth, and Fitzwilliam. Miss Audley was calmer than she had been the previous night, and said little until the footman entered with her pug.

"Orville!"

"Lord Ashbourne left very explicit orders that he should be brought down from London once you arrived, ma'am."

She gathered the dog up in her arms and cuddled the creature to her chest. Orville was quite old, and Bingley had never seen him do very much more than lug himself from one side of the room to the other, but he seemed not to have forgotten his former mistress, for he squirmed happily and licked her cheek.

"Oh, my darling Orville, I have missed you. Lord Ashbourne has cared for you all this time, and now I have you again." She started to cry and Fitzwilliam hastily dismissed the footman before she could reveal anything in front of him. "He is the best of men." She hastily wiped her cheeks and looked at Lord Walden. "If he is not brought back to me safe and whole, I will torment you for the rest of my life."

Lord Walden did not appear to take the threat lightly.

She sat down again at the table, setting the dog on her lap, and feeding it bits of food from the table. Bingley glanced at Fitzwilliam, but he did not appear of a mind to challenge Miss Audley on the matter, and Bingley, who was unfortunately seated next to her, only moved his plate slightly to the left.

Bingley had planned to send a note to Longbourn, but one arrived begging the pleasure of his company before he had an opportunity. He sighed when he saw it. Edgeworth found this amusing, for he smirked into his coffee. Edgeworth, however, had not spent six weeks enduring the indignity of working as a servant. Nothing in the world but Jane could have induced him to return to Longbourn that morning.

As Ashbourne presently had no need of him, he employed Quinn, Ashbourne's valet, for the day. Borrowing another man's valet was as uncomfortable as borrowing another man's shoes, but they did tolerably well together. Quinn gave him a haircut--too short, but neat--and a close shave. Dressing was a drawn out affair.

Bingley first chose a pair of tight buckskin breeches, but decided that they made him look too much like a dandy, and opted for a more loose-fitting pair of light gray which he paired with a white and yellow striped waistcoat and, after much deliberation, his dark green coat. He and Quinn came to some disagreement about the tie of the neck cloth, but Bingley was eventually convinced that an Oriental tie served him best.

He shook out his ruffles and pulled on his white calfskin gloves, regarding himself in the mirror.

"It is not overdone, is it?"

"No sir."

"I do not want it underdone either."

"It is neither over nor under done, sir. It is simply done," Quinn said with some exasperation. Ashbourne had to be among the easiest of men to dress. He wore whatever his valet put in front of him and never had an opinion about it. Bingley missed Frederick.

He donned his hat and regarded himself again. "I am not certain the hat quite goes, but Frederick only sent the one. If I were to change the waistcoat...but then I believe I should wear the blue coat and..."

They were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Fitzwilliam, on being let in, leaned against the frame of the door.

"I understand that you are in an awkward spot, but I believe my brother's situation is somewhat more to be pitied. I need those papers returned to me. It is not going to become less mortifying the longer you stand in front of the mirror."

No, it was not.

Thus he found himself in the carriage on the way to Longbourn, fidgeting nervously. Jane would be there. No place could be entirely awful if Jane were to be there.

The carriage pulled to a stop. Bingley closed his eyes. This was going to be dreadful.

Mrs. Hill answered the door, much as she had the day he had arrived at Netherfield. They stared at each other in awkward silence until Bingley fumbled with his card. He was led to the sitting room, where he was presented with everyone. The entire family, including Mrs. Phillips, stared at him as Mrs. Hill announced him.

He caught Jane's eye and saw the apology written on her face. He did his best to appear unconcerned as he made all the polite greetings, and Mrs. Phillips blatantly looked over his suit of clothes, no doubt tallying its worth in her head.

The first several minutes that passed were among the most uncomfortable of his life. He was seated by Jane, which helped immensely, but she was quiet, and Bingley could not think of the first thing to say.

It was Mrs. Bennet who finally broke the silence. "Is Lord Ashbourne not with you?"

"No, Lord Ashbourne has been called away on family business. I believe it may have something to do with the arrival of his cousin, Miss Audley. She came to Netherfield yesterday with her companion."

"I am sorry that he could not accompany you. He has such a high opinion of my girls."

Bingley managed a polite smile. He longed to say something of the engagement of Miss Audley and Lord Ashbourne, but it seemed too early to speak of it publicly.

"Do you really have five thousand a year?" Lydia asked.

Jane blushed. Bingley only nodded.

"And a house in London?" Kitty asked.

"Yes."

"When you and Jane are married, can we go to stay with you in London?"

"Aunt and Uncle Gardiner always invite Jane and Lizzy to stay with them in London, but they never invite us."

Bingley thought that said a great deal about the sense of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, but he said, "Jane will be free to invite whomever she likes. It will be her house, and I will welcome her family as often as she wishes to have them with us."

Jane glanced at Elizabeth, who would no doubt be the main recipient of their hospitality.

"Has Mr. Collins returned to Rosings?" Bingley asked with what he thought was admirable nonchalance.

Jane smiled, and Elizabeth appeared to be trying not to laugh.

"He has," Mr. Bennet said, looking rather amused himself, though Mary looked quite put out.

After a few awkward moments, Mary said, "I think wagers are very foolish things."

Nearly everyone in the room, excepting only Jane and Bingley themselves, glared at her. He suspected that the tacit agreement was to pretend that the previous six weeks had not happened at all, and that Bingley had appeared today for the first time, fully formed as Jane's betrothed, like Athena burst from the forehead of Zeus.

"I quite agree with you," Bingley said. "I doubt I shall ever make such a one again."

He looked through the window at the winding paths outside. He longed to be alone with Jane, and was just beginning to doubt he would ever be allowed the chance when Elizabeth said, "Mama, Jane had hoped to take Mr. Bingley to see Okham Mount today."

This was declared to be a capital idea, and at first Elizabeth, Kitty, and Lydia were all to accompany them, but with some effort, the group was pared down to only himself, Jane, and Elizabeth, which was far preferable.

Shortly after, they were left to themselves for a time, and Bingley was about to ask Jane if she could contrive some way of his speaking to Matty, when Matty herself entered the room and put an end to the matter.

She curtsied, not meeting his eye, and said, "Mrs. Bennet sent me to see if you should care for some tea."

Bingley rose. "You are the very person I need to see."

She raised her eyes for only a moment. "Sir?"

Bingley frowned, struck by the change in her behavior. "I need a very great favor from you."

"I do not see what favors I could do for a man of your importance, sir, but I am happy to be of service."

"This is more than service, Matty, and it will be...rewarded thusly."

"I am happy to be of service," she said.

"I need a packet of papers from--"

"The ones you tucked into the chair in Mr. Ridgeway's office?"

Bingley blinked. "How did you know?"

"I saw you do it," Matty said. "I see most things that happen in this house. No one ever notices me when I'm not talking. I'll get your papers, sir, and I can bring them to you this evening, if Miss Bennet will send me to Netherfield."

Jane nodded and said she would send a note that evening.

Matty curtsied and left, and Bingley was left to wonder at her behavior.

"Oh, sister!" he heard Mrs. Phillips exclaim as he seated himself next to Jane, her voice only slightly muffled by the door. "His suit must have cost twenty pounds at least. Did you see his watch?"

They fortunately left for Okham Mount shortly after.

The walk was long, but not arduous, and Jane and Elizabeth were excellent company. He discovered from Elizabeth the reason for the amusement after his inquiry about Mr. Collins.

"It was Jane that told him. My mother was still recovering from the shock and most of the house had no idea what had happened. After you left with Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Collins came in and asked if he had come to take you into custody for some offense."

Bingley laughed.

"Jane said, 'Indeed not, sir. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley are good friends.' She told him the whole story then, and the poor man looked like he was about to faint."

"I felt very sorry for him," Jane said.

"He raced from the house. I believe he has gone to Rosings, to prostrate himself before Lady Catherine before any unkind reports can reach her from her nephew."

Bingley was sorry he had missed it, but Jane looked genuinely concerned for the man, so he held his tongue.

They reached Okham Mount then. The view was very nice, though he had seen grander landscapes from certain high points on the Kentridge estate. He did not say anything of the sort to Jane or Elizabeth, of course, only mentioned that he very much wanted to show Jane the Lake District.

"Oh," Jane said. "I should like that very much. I am fond of a lovely view, but I fear those who have a true appreciation for the landscape would find my lack of sensibility appalling."

"What Jane means is that she does not quote poetry at the first glimpse of a dead tree, nor wax philosophical over a bit of rock in a field. It is a trait of her character that all who know her very much appreciate," Elizabeth said.

Bingley smiled at Jane. For the first time since they had begun their walk, he wished that one of the younger girls had joined them. It would have been far easier to pull Jane off to the side had they been two groups of two rather than one group of three. Elizabeth, however, could be sly. He saw a look pass between the sisters; Elizabeth found that the lace of her boot needed fixing, and begged that they would continue their exploration without her.

They found seclusion on the far side of a tree.

"I have something for you," Bingley said, taking from his pocket a lock of his own hair that he had had Quinn save and wrap in a bit of paper. "I would have preferred to allow you to take it yourself, but I thought it more important that I appear properly groomed this morning."

She smiled brilliantly when she saw what he had given her.

"I intend to have yours set in amber and made into a ring. It is very dear to me, though I shall never forgive myself for pressing you--"

"Pray, do not think of it. It is done, and I--" She blushed, but met his eyes boldly. "Despite all that came after, that was one of the best--the most exciting moments of my entire life." She blushed even more deeply and started to turn her head away, but Bingley caught her cheek in his gloved hand. He could not take his eyes from her lips. So close, he could see that they were not quite perfect. The lower was not quite plump enough, and the upper was a hair too thin, to be the ideal of feminine beauty. It did not matter, they were her lips, and he wanted none other.

She sighed and he felt her breath on his cheek.

He let his hand fall from her face and placed it on her upper back. She licked her lips and he bent his head to kiss her.

"Sir William!" Elizabeth cried. "How very good it is to see you."

Jane jerked away from him, and by the time they were in the sight of Sir William Lucas, the unschooled observer would have thought them perfectly at their ease and engaged in nothing more exciting than amiable conversation. Bingley was far from being at his ease, but he confined any outward appearance of annoyance to tossing his walking stick from one hand to the other while he enjoyed a pleasurable moment of daydreaming about bashing Sir William on the head with it.

Sir William laughed. "Oh dear, I do hope that I haven't interrupted anything." He winked at Bingley, and Jane stepped a few paces away, looking out at the view from the mount. "You must excuse my interruption, but I have been commanded by Mr. Jones to take a long walk each day. Ah, but I see by the lady's blush that I have interrupted, well, I hope that you will not be too cross with me, Mr. Bingley." He laughed again. "You have been very sly with us, pretending to be a servant, but you young men are all the same, nothing but the outrageous will satisfy you. I suppose you will have quite the tale to tell, and I daresay you got far more reward than you bargained for." He looked again at Jane and said, "Oh dear, you must be quite the thing to raise such a blush."

Bingley had never been more protective of anything than he was of Jane's modesty in that moment. Since bashing Sir William on the head was unfortunately out of the question, he engaged him in civil conversation as they walked back, leaving Jane and Elizabeth to their own _tête-à-tête_.

"I do not find Sir William entirely agreeable," Jane said when he had left them.

Elizabeth stared at her in shock, but Bingley only took her arm and, when he saw Elizabeth had walked a few paces ahead and was not attending them, whispered, "I shall have my kiss the next time I see you, Jane. You may count that as a promise."

He declined to dine at Longbourn, citing letters of business and prior engagements at Netherfield. He met Mrs. Hill again in the hall as he was leaving. He had many times fantasized about such a meeting, largely when he had been smarting from some scolding or some unpleasant task she had set him to. The poor woman looked so anxious and miserable, however, likely imagining that he would use his influence with the Bennets to see her dismissed, that, when he saw they were alone, he said, "We were never friends, you and I."

"No, sir."

"I do not think that a housekeeper can be friends with those below her."

"No, sir."

"I bear you no ill will, I assure you. I only think that perhaps you should remember that those below you are in fact human, and that their existence encompasses more than their employment."

That she wanted very much to say something in reply was clear, but it seemed that Bingley was now above being made to hear what she thought on any matter, and he could not bring himself to ask. She opened the door for him. "Good day, sir."

"Good day," he said, and got into the waiting carriage.

*

None of the gentlemen were at home when he returned to Netherfield, but he found Miss Audley seated on a sofa, Orville asleep on her lap. Papers were scattered on either side of her. She was gazing thoughtfully out of the window, and did not look at him when he came in. He was about to leave the room when she said, "This is every letter I ever wrote to him. Fitzwilliam found them and gave them to me. I could keep none of his, of course. Every one, burned up, even those I dearly wished to keep."

"I am very sorry."

She gestured to the chair across from her and Bingley took it.

Lifting one of the letters, she hummed thoughtfully and stroked Orville's head with her free hand. "Have you ever noticed that his lordship makes his 'g's with a peculiar little flourish?

"I confess I have not," Bingley said with a barely restrained laugh.

She narrowed her eyes and harrumphed with a gravity befitting one twice her age. "His father's stance on the slave trade hurts him deeply, but he is too afraid to say anything in front of him. And he cannot abide his collars being overly starched." She looked at him with an expression he could not read. It seemed almost defiant, or daring, or even superior. Bingley, who on most occasions could read people very well, could not quite make her out.

"You know a great deal about him," Bingley said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

She sighed and her countenance shifted to one of uncertainty. "But I do not know his person. I do not know his nervous habits or his gestures or his smile or his laugh."

"There will be time to learn all of that."

"Yes, there will," she said in a quiet, determined voice. She pounded the couch in emphasis, or frustration, causing Orville to raise his head and look around in a way that reminded Bingley of nothing more than his grandmother waking suddenly from one of her frequent naps. She removed the dog from her lap and settled him on the couch, gathered her letters and left with a short, "Good day."

Bingley sat a while in his chair, thinking about Ashbourne and Miss Audley, about Jane, and about marriage. He had not yet risen from that spot when Matty arrived. As soon as the footman had left them, she handed him a letter from Jane, and the packet of papers.

"Is there anything else, sir?"

Bingley took five guineas from his pocket and gave them to her. "I did say that you would be rewarded."

She pocketed the coins and went to leave. Bingley called out to her.

"Sir?"

"Matty, have I done something to lose your friendship?"

"No, sir."

"I do not believe you."

"We weren't never friends, sir."

"I thought we were."

"So did I."

She seemed prepared to leave again, but Bingley offered her a seat, and, after some hesitation, she took it.

"I am sorry I lied to you."

"You're still lying. There wasn't never any wager. If it was a wager, you wouldn't have paid me to get those papers, and Mr. Ridgeway wouldn't have planted that dish in your room."

"You know of that?"

"Who do you think took it out? Those papers too."

Bingley blinked rapidly. "Why?"

"I liked you. I never liked Mr. Ridgeway none. If you and he was having intrigues, I'd as lief protect you as him."

"Matty, I owe you a great deal. More people than you know owe you a great deal."

She shrugged.

"Will you not tell me what I have done to offend you?"

"You said we could still be friends."

"I meant that."

She laughed, and Bingley realized she was right. They could not be friends. He could not place her at his table and he had no place at hers. He could not even promise to write to her when he left. He doubted she had the means to pay the postage, and could not read his words even if she had.

"I did mean it, at the time."

"Yes, sir."

"I am sorry. I do wish that things were different."

"Yes, sir. Is there anything more you need from me, _sir_?"

He nearly winced. "No, nothing more. Thank you."

She left him without another word.


	17. Chapter 17

The following day dawned clear, but a driving, pouring rain set in shortly after Fitzwilliam, Edgeworth, and Lord Walden left the house. Bingley was confined with only Nell, Miss Audley, and Orville for company.

He sat at his desk for a time, attempting to draft a letter to his sisters, but still nothing came to him. He had to tell them of the engagement before the news reached them by some other means. Though he felt very much sheltered and isolated here, Hertfordshire was not so far from London, and gossip did travel.

Nell sat at work. Miss Audley's hurried escape meant she had left with only the clothing on her back and a small portmanteau, and the length of her uncle's tyranny meant her gowns were all two or three years out of fashion, and intended for a girl not yet out, not a young woman perhaps about to be a bride. Nell was attempting to turn one of her worn and dated gowns into something fit to be seen.

The rain eased slightly around noon, but continued steady against the windows. He asked about the books in the house and was directed to a small collection which included no Fielding but did have the most recent work by Mrs. Radcliffe.

Miss Audley scoffed when she saw what he was reading.

"The bookplate is that of your intended," Bingley said without raising his eyes.

She might have replied, but there was a commotion in the hall then. Bingley rose, and directed the ladies to stay where they were. He went out into the entranceway and was vastly surprised to see Ashbourne, mud six inches up his stockings, drenched and shivering, but perfectly whole and alive.

"Ashbourne!"

"Bingley," he replied between chattering teeth.

"Where are Fitzwilliam and Edgeworth and Lord Walden? Did they not think to bring you a coat?"

"I have not seen them."

There would be time to sort everything later. "Upstairs with you. You will catch a chill."

"My lord!" Miss Audley stood at the door to the sitting room, her hand over her mouth. For a moment, Bingley feared she would fling herself into his arms, but she remained as she was, only staring at him with wide eyes.

Ashbourne, still shivering, pressed his lips together and managed a curt, "Miss Audley."

She looked hurt, and Bingley knew he had to get Ashbourne upstairs directly. Fortunately, Nell collected Miss Audley and took her back to the sitting room, and Bingley was able to get Ashbourne upstairs and into his chambers.

Quinn helped to undress him, and they seated him in his dressing gown before the fire, gave him tea, and waited for him to stop shivering. He swore he was in no need of physic. Bingley thought he should have been bled, at least, but doubted he was in urgent need of care, and let the matter rest.

"How?" Bingley asked.

Ashbourne didn't reply. He stood abruptly, and told Quinn to lay out a suit for him. He ran his hands through his still-wet, dark curly hair and frowned into the mirror.

"Please tell Miss Audley that I will be down to see her shortly."

"Are you...certain?"

"I am."

Bingley had never seen Ashbourne quite so determined. He bowed and left him to his man.

Miss Audley was still seated in the sitting room where she had been left. Orville napped beside her. She came to her feet when he entered the room.

"Where is Lord Ashbourne?"

"He will be down to see you directly," Bingley said.

Miss Audley sat, stood, and sat again, finally crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the door as if willing it to open.

Bingley may have overstated the case when he had said the man would be down directly. They made strained conversation for ten minutes, but eventually Bingley returned to his book and Miss Audley to playing with Orville. Finally, the door did open, and Ashbourne came in, dressed and groomed with more care than Bingley had previously seen him use on any occasion, save perhaps court functions.

Miss Audley stood. "My lord," she said, and curtsied.

"Miss Audley," Ashbourne said with a bow. "Please forgive me for not properly receiving you earlier, I was..."

"Pray, do not concern yourself, sir."

He had gone stiff and distant, but instead of crossing to the other side of the room and looking out the window as he usually would have done, he asked leave to sit beside her on the couch. Had it been any other pair, Bingley would have felt compelled to leave, but he suspected that the last thing Ashbourne wanted was to be left alone. He returned his attention to his book and Nell returned to her work, and Ashbourne and Miss Audley sat side by side, unspeaking.

When the silence had stretched for so long that he could hardly take it, Bingley said, "Do you intend to tell us of your dashing heroics or are you hoping the suspense will enlarge your feat to legendary proportions?"

Ashbourne, clearly not in any position to puzzle out sarcastic statements, looked at him as if he were mad.

"How did you escape?" Bingley clarified.

"I...ah..." He looked at Miss Audley, and then stared at the painting on the wall. "I shot Lord Dorset."

Miss Audley's hand flew to her mouth. "You shot my uncle?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

Ashbourne paled and nodded.

"Is he dead?"

"He is."

"That is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me."

Had Bingley had a drink, he would have choked on it. Ashbourne only blinked, and Nell smiled. He supposed they knew more of what she had suffered than Bingley could hope to.

"What happened precisely?"

Ashbourne shrugged. "After a day I decided I no longer wanted to wait to be rescued, so I attempted to escape when Lord Dorset had fallen asleep. I was caught, and he threatened to shoot me. I knew I was his only means of bargaining with my brother, and since Mr. Pitt has the documents, and the evidence of treason on his part, he has--had no hope of returning to his former life. I told him he was welcome to attempt to shoot me, but that I was leaving regardless of his desires. He attacked me, we struggled, and the gun went off."

It was possibly the longest speech Ashbourne had ever uttered in the presence of a woman.

"I did not think you had such heroics in you," Bingley said honestly. Miss Audley glared at him for having the audacity to say such a thing, but Ashbourne showed no evidence of being offended.

"It was hardly heroic," he said quietly.

"Well," Miss Audley said. "I am sorry that I will not be able to witness his execution, but I am glad he is dead." She looked at Ashbourne. "I am very glad you are safe."

Ashbourne looked away. Miss Audley sighed and looked at Nell. She must have communicated something, for Nell looked at Bingley and tipped her head toward the door. Bingley was not quite prepared to leave him, but Ashbourne gave him a barely perceptible nod, and Bingley reluctantly followed Nell out.

"Oh, honestly, Andrew," he heard Miss Audley say as he was closing the door. "I am going to sit in this chair and read this abysmal book. Kindly inform me when you are prepared to have a conversation."

"She's an odd one," Nell said when they were in the hall, "but so is he. I think they'll do quite well together."

Bingley glanced at the closed door. "I have a letter to write," he said, and went upstairs with the resolution of not rising from his desk until he had formulated a note to his sisters.

*

He was folding the letter when the carriage pulled up outside. The rain had tapered off, and only left the day cold and soggy and utterly uninviting.

He went downstairs in time to hear Fitzwilliam say to the footman who was assisting him, "My brother is here then?"

"Yes, sir."

Fitzwilliam caught sight of Nell. If he hadn't, Bingley did not doubt he would have used the kind of language that only a military man could truly use without sounding affected.

Lord Walden--or rather, upon the death of his father, the Third Marquess of Dorset--entered behind him with Edgeworth. He looked so much at ease that Bingley at first thought he did not know what had happened. He was, in fact, puzzling over how to greet him when Fitzwilliam addressed him as Lord Dorset and informed him that Ashbourne was safe.

"Excellent," Lord Dorset replied as he made for the stairs.

Bingley looked at Fitzwilliam, who said, "I will explain everything later. Where is he?"

Before Bingley could answer, Fitzwilliam opened the door to the nearest sitting room, which happened to be where Ashbourne and Miss Audley were together.

"--am going to do this properly," Ashbourne was saying. Miss Audley stood by the couch and Ashbourne was kneeling before her.

"Out!" Miss Audley cried. She grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at Fitzwilliam's head, but Fitzwilliam managed to slam the door shut before it could reach him. Bingley, who had suffered more interrupted moments of late than he thought entirely fair, could sympathize.

"That woman--"

"Is soon to be your sister."

Fitzwilliam looked down at his wet clothing. "I am going to my room. I shall see you at dinner."

*

Dinner was an odd affair. Ashbourne, somewhat unexpectedly, enjoyed ceremony and rigid etiquette, but only, of course, when he was in familiar society. A formal dinner seemed very strange, given the odd collection of people involved, but a formal dinner it was to be, and Bingley came to the table in breeches, white stockings, and an elaborately tied cravat.

Earlier, Fitzwilliam had come to him and informed him of the unfortunate death of the Second Marquess of Dorset.

"Lord Dorset died in an accident at his shooting box in Hertfordshire this morning. He was cleaning his gun when it went off accidentally."

Bingley's brows had risen.

"Utterly unrelated to that, Mr. Ridgeway, the steward of Longbourn, has been called away on sudden family business. He...may not return for some time."

"I doubt he will return at all," Bingley had said. Fitzwilliam had not replied but for a slight upturn in the corner of his mouth.

Bingley had been quiet for a time, puzzling over the matter. "I assume the treason of Lord Dorset--I should say the treason of Lord Dorset's father--will remain concealed. Likely part of the deal you made with the former Lord Walden. A bill of attainder would have been his ruin."

Fitzwilliam had not replied. His expression had not even changed.

"Was Ashbourne's decision to rescue himself terribly inconvenient for you?"

Fitzwilliam had smiled freely. "I have recently discovered that my brother can pass a test of his mettle. I am...proud of him, inconvenient though it may have been at the time."

"I suppose the documents--which are no doubt highly erroneous--are with the French now, or on their way to France. And I suppose you have left everything very...tidy in your wake."

Receiving no reply of substance, Bingley had sighed. "Will you at least tell me what was in that packet that I nearly died of fright retrieving for you?"

"Perhaps," Fitzwilliam had said, "on your death bed, if the illness is very far along and has left you unable to speak."

Bingley had rolled his eyes then, and shooed Fitzwilliam from his chambers so that he could dress for dinner.

So he sat, pretending nothing of consequence had happened this day. Ashbourne was at the head of the table, and the foot of the table left bare as there was no mistress of the house. Miss Audley sat at his right and Lord Dorset had been given the honor of being seated at his left. Nell had been given a seat at the table, in deference to her sudden and unexpected promotion from abigail to companion, a necessity given Miss Audley's presence in a house full of men, but it was still a small party and not at all what one would expect to find at such a formal dinner.

Miss Audley looked quite lovely. Nell had done as good a job as could be done on her gown, and she had arranged her hair in a very becoming style. She was, moreover, smiling, which suited her far better than a scowl. Ashbourne looked happier than Bingley had ever seen him, and seemed quite taken with his intended.

"I have an announcement," Ashbourne said, when there was a lull in the conversation, shortly before the ladies would remove themselves to the drawing room. "Miss Audley and I are to be married."

It was hardly news, but congratulations were offered all around. "Lord...Dorset has inherited the guardianship of Miss Audley along with the title, and he has kindly agreed to grant me permission to marry his cousin."

"By kindly agreed to grant permission, I suppose you mean he offered to throw in a pair of prize grays if you would take me off his hands," Miss Audley said, with a saucy smile at her cousin.

Everyone but Fitzwilliam laughed, as Lord Dorset gave her a tight smile in return.

"Given the unfortunate accident which has befallen Lord Dorset's father and Miss Audley's uncle, it is only proper that we postpone the wedding to allow some time for mourning. However, since we plan a very simple ceremony, six weeks seems adequate."

"I return to London tomorrow. The news about my father is obviously very distressing and I will have a great deal of business to attend to. There is a...a funeral to arrange." Lord Dorset's voice nearly broke as he said the last, and Bingley doubted very much that it was affected for the sake of the servants.

"Will you and Miss Audley be returning to London as well?" Bingley asked. It would be awkward for him if they did, for he could hardly stay at Netherfield on his own when it had been taken by Ashbourne. His home in London could hold no pleasure for him if Jane were here.

Ashbourne appeared nonplussed as he said, "No, we will stay here until the wedding."

Fitzwilliam frowned. "If Miss Audley is to stay here for six weeks, the house must have a female presence. Nell is too well known as her lady's maid to truly pass for a proper companion, there is too much that is exceptional in the situation."

Miss Audley gave him a small smile, and Ashbourne said, "I did think of that. I have written to...to a lady who I hope will agree to come and stay here until the wedding."

"To whom--"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," Miss Audley interrupted, "your brother has told me so much about your exploits against the French in the West Indies. Were you not scared to go into battle?"

Fitzwilliam narrowed his eyes, but went along with this conversational diversion, and he did not ask again about the lady to whom Ashbourne had written, at least not in Bingley's presence.

*

The next several days passed pleasantly. Bingley received a response from Caroline regarding his engagement. The news had gone over as well as he could have hoped. He'd known all along that his sisters' response to his exploits would depend upon Society's response to them. Since Society--or, the portion of Society which cared what a person surnamed Bingley did, which was not quite the same as the whole of Society no matter what Caroline might think--had deemed the whole thing an amusing, somewhat ridiculous antic by a spirited young man, Caroline did not waste three pages denouncing him, expressing her mortification, and declaring she had no choice but to flee the country in shame. She did, however, express her serious reservations about his engagement, and he was not looking forward to introducing both her and Louisa to the Bennets.

Bingley spent much of his time at Longbourn. His initial embarrassment had passed, but there was something very strange about being served by people he had eaten and laughed with over very bad meals, and who now curtsied or bowed and called him "sir". He saw little of Matty, and when she did see him, she would scarcely look at him. Knowing her feelings for him, and the odd sort of friendship they had struck, he supposed she had more reason to feel betrayed than any of the others. No one else appeared to notice her behavior, and he was glad for that. He doubted not that, had they seen, Matty would have been disciplined for her rudeness, and no one would have given a thought to the feelings that had predicated it.

Mr. Bennet commented in an off-hand way about Mr. Ridgeway being called away on urgent family business, and watched Bingley closely as he said it. Bingley, with a calm innocence he was rather proud of, said he hoped it was nothing too serious.

Mrs. Bennet took the news of Ashbourne's engagement about as well as he expected.

"Engaged! All this time! Well, and he was so complimentary of my girls. I suppose she is very high born."

"She is the granddaughter and only surviving descendant of the late Duke of Leicester, and the cousin of the Marquess of Dorset. She is also a cousin of Lord Ashbourne himself, but I believe that is a more distant relationship."

"That is high born," Elizabeth said dryly.

"And...her fortune?"

"She has close to fourteen thousand--"

"That is not so very much."

"--a year."

"Fourteen thousand a year!" Kitty exclaimed.

"His Grace left her almost his entire fortune, an estate, a house in London, and a great deal of money. It has been in trust for her since she was nine years old."

"And Lord Ashbourne will have twenty five thousand a year."

"When his father dies, yes. It will perhaps be a little less than that, but he will be an...extraordinarily wealthy man."

Tilly fumbled with the tea tray and almost dropped it. Bingley, whose reflexes were quite good when he was not feverish and exhausted, and who was standing at the time, caught the edge of the tray and prevented the whole of it from spilling onto the floor. Tilly went white, and Bingley saw Mrs. Bennet's brows come together in anger.

"I beg your pardon," Bingley said. "I was not attending, and I nearly knocked you down."

Mrs. Bennet's face smoothed, and Tilly gave him a very grateful smile, but he saw that the edges of her eyes were red as if she had been crying.

*

Caroline, and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst arrived at Netherfield that afternoon, and Jane received a very cordial invitation to visit them the very next morning. She arrived in the carriage, alone; he had not thought Mrs. Bennet would expand the specifically worded invitation to include any of her other daughters, but given that there were two other eligible gentlemen at Netherfield, he had not been able to rest easy until he saw for himself that it was so. He was very relieved that his sisters' first impression of the Bennets would be from Jane and Jane alone.

He greeted her at the carriage, and was proud of the way she boldly offered him her hand.

Caroline had followed him out, and he made the introduction there in the drive. He saw some of the apprehension drain from her face as she discerned that Jane was not vulgar.

"That's a rum nab," Jeb said, standing next to the carriage.

Bingley grinned and unconsciously touched the brim of his beaver hat. His sister was fortunately too far away to hear a mere servant speaking so freely to _Mister_ Bingley. "Far better than my last," Bingley said.

"Can I have it?" Jeb asked, as Caroline led Jane into the house. "Your old hat, I mean. I'm figurin' you don't need it, being..." He looked at Netherfield and looked again at Bingley's hat.

"You can have everything in my room," Bingley said.

"Everything?"

"Take it all, the grooming kit, the coin in the purse, all of it," Bingley said. "Use it, sell it, I care not. It is entirely yours."

"Much obliged, sir."

Bingley started to go inside, but stopped and turned back. "How is Tilly?"

"Well, sir." Seeing Bingley's concern, he clarified, "Well enough."

"Did you ask?"

"I did. She...she turned me down, but at least I didn't get down on my knee." He sighed. "She said I ain't got prospects, and she ain't gonna raise a family with a man with no prospects."

"I am sorry."

Jeb shrugged. "She is sweet on me, you know. She would have done it if it hadn't been for Phoebe. She don't wanna leave Longbourn while Phoebe is working there, and I can't take on a half grown girl and a wife, not all at once."

Bingley nodded. "If I hear of any more lucrative work that I think will suit you, I will see what I can do."

"Very much obliged to you again, sir."

He went inside and made further introductions as they were needed. Miss Audley, so long denied company of any kind, and especially of ladies her own age, looked quite content. Caroline was, unsurprisingly, paying court to her, but she was not ignoring Jane in order to do so, and given Miss Audley's rank in comparisons to Jane's, that was the most Bingley could hope for.

Miss Audley herself was everything charming and cordial. She smiled at all the jokes and covered over Ashbourne's occasional blunders with an ease that suggested far more practice than she actually had. Bingley wanted most of all a few moments alone with Jane, but his wants could not take precedence. He therefore made polite conversation with all in the room, and watched with pleasure as his sisters warmed to Jane. That Miss Audley was clearly taken with her was a great help to the cause.

Fortunately, this was not a mere fifteen minute social call; Jane was to stay much of the day, and after nuncheon, Bingley saw his chance. Jane could not leave without seeing Ashbourne's beetle collection, after all. When Ashbourne leapt to his feet, eager to tell her all about it, Fitzwilliam shook his head. Caroline gave him the sort of look that she had given him shortly after their first meeting, when she had decided that no amount of money was worth putting up with a husband like Ashbourne. Miss Audley calmly asked him to sit with her and look at the fashion plates Mrs. Hurst had brought from London. While Ashbourne was trying to explain that Miss Bennet wanted to see his collection, Bingley absconded with Jane, thinking that a properly engaged man, who had already started the process of drafting settlement papers, should not have to be so roundabout in his efforts to have a few minutes alone with his intended.

Ashbourne's beetles, like his other collections, were extremely well cared for. At his home in London, large, custom made chests with many drawers kept everything safe and organized, but here the wooden cases were simply set out on a table, some of their glass lids open.

Jane reached out to touch one of the beetles in an open case, but Bingley caught her hand and shook his head.

"They are quite...lovely," Jane said.

"They are dead beetles," Bingley said. "They are dead beetles from the four corners of the earth, they are very expensive dead beetles, but they are still dead beetles."

"Yes," Jane said with a small laugh. Her lip caught between her teeth and Bingley, who had not dropped her hand, drew her away from the table and toward the window, out of the line of sight of someone passing by the half-open door.

"I believe I have a promise to keep," Bingley said. Before they could be interrupted by an errant maid or Ashbourne came to tell about how he had come to acquire his Japanese beetles, he kissed her.

It was a slight brush of lips against lips, yet the intensity shocked him. His hand tightened on her back, and he pulled her closer to him. Jane's hand gripped his coat. When he pulled back, he saw Jane looking at him. He was too close to her to see her entire face, but the brightness in her eyes was enough to tell him that she was smiling.

He could not take _liberties_, but he could press kisses to her temple, her forehead, and her cheek before returning to her lips. He did not dare give attention to her neck, lest his inclinations lead him even lower against his better judgement, but her jaw was too tempting to ignore as was the patch of skin behind her ear.

When he pulled away again, Jane was flushed pink, but was very far from objecting to his attentions. Indeed, she darted forward and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

He brought his hand up to the back of her neck, running his thumb along her hairline. Jane rested her head on his shoulder. He took her hand in his and interlaced their fingers. They stayed like that for a time, unspeaking, both of them catching their breath.

When she lifted her head, he kissed her again, and dropped his hands to her waist. He was intending to draw her even closer, when he heard what seemed to be deliberately heavy footsteps outside the door, and reluctantly released her.

"Mr. Bingley?"

"Yes?" Bingley asked the footman with forced calmness.

"Lord Ashbourne has asked to see you in the study, sir." He glanced at Jane. "At, ah, your earliest convenience."

Jane murmured something about returning to the party downstairs, and brushed past him, avoiding both his gaze and the footman's. Bingley sighed. The wedding, and the day he would be able to close and lock the door between them and the rest of the world, could not come soon enough.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for potentially triggering language and possible othering of non-white characteristics.

He knocked twice at the door of the study and, receiving no answer, entered uninvited. Ashbourne was pacing from one end of the room to the other, rubbing his hands together as he did so. He jumped when Bingley called his name.

"What is the matter?" Bingley asked, wondering what could have possibly happened in the space of time since he and Jane had gone upstairs.

Ashbourne nodded to a letter on the desk. "That came by express just now. I need you to read it for me."

"Why?"

"Because I cannot bring myself to--to read it myself."

Bingley picked up the letter. The direction was not known to him, but the name seemed familiar. "Where have I heard of Lady Bellamy?"

"She is my mother," Ashbourne said. He had stopped pacing and had seated himself in a chair. "I--I cannot..."

"A week ago you all but dared a man to shoot you, and today you cannot read a letter from your own mother?"

"There is a certain irony in that, I admit."

Bingley turned the letter over in his hands. It was still sealed. "Ashbourne, this is from your mother. It is personal. I cannot read it."

"I know myself, it will take me hours to get to the point where I can open that seal and I--please, read it."

"Perhaps you would be more at ease if your brother--"

Ashbourne laughed. On reflection, that was a rather silly suggestion.

"You are certain?"

"Yes."

Bingley broke the seal. It was as uncomfortably personal a letter as he had feared, but he cleared his throat and read it aloud.

"My dearest, dearest child,

There are not enough words in English or _le français que je parlais comme une fille_ to express my happiness upon receiving your letter. I fear I put Sir Edgar in quite a fright, for I was struck dumb when I saw the direction, and it was not until some moments after I had finished reading that I could speak with any coherence. I have dreamed, hoped, thought many times of receiving some word or note from you, but I never--but, I shall say nothing more of that. I shall leave the past as past. Your news is more gladdening than I can say, and _de tout mon coeur_ I wish you the greatest of joy. I am _au comble de la joie_ at the thought of meeting your Miss Audley. You love her. It is enough. I will love her. I will love her _comme une mère_, if she will have me. Your invitation is accepted with the fullest thanks possible. Do forgive my poor penmanship, it is only that my hand shakes at the thought of seeing you again. Sir Edgar sends his thanks as well, and accepts your gracious invitation, though he will be several days delayed behind me, as we await the return of Mignon from seminary. Young Edgar and Ashley will not be joining us, for they are away at Eton, but Charlotte and Mignon will travel with him. I will leave tomorrow morning, and expect to arrive by the afternoon of the 16th.

I sign myself your most devoted and loving mother,  
Adelle Bellamy"

Ashbourne took the letter from him with a shaking hand.

"Your mother is coming."

"Yes."

"Does your brother know?"

"I have not told him directly, but I believe he suspects."

"You should tell him. It should not come as a shock when she arrives."

"Yes, he must know. Could you--"

"No."

Ashbourne sighed. "Yes. Yes, you are right, I must tell him." He looked at the letter. "I think that I--I will be out shortly."

Bingley left him still seated, the letter clutched tightly in his hands.

Ashbourne rejoined the party after nearly three quarters of an hour. He was somewhat distant for the rest of the day, but given his usual behavior, few noticed.

Jane left them after a relatively early dinner. Both of his sisters referred to her by her Christian name as she took her leave of them. Jane looked radiant with happiness when he handed her up into the carriage.

When she had gone, and the party had largely broken up into small groups throughout the house, Caroline said, "Well, you could have done better, but you could have done far worse. Her manners are good, she is a very pretty girl, and Miss Audley seems charmed with her, which bodes well for her success in society. She is not very accomplished; she does not play or sing or draw, but I suppose once one has a husband, one has fewer need of accomplishments. And she will need a certain...polish, of course."

"I suppose you will provide the polish and I will provide the coin to fund it," Bingley said wryly.

Caroline smiled. "You did choose her. There are a great many sweet, pretty girls in Town who need no such polish. I hear rumblings that Miss Darcy will come out next season. She is Lord Ashbourne's cousin, and you would do well to cement that connection."

Bingley crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "Would you have me simply abandon Jane after I have given her my word?"

Caroline frowned. "I did not say it was possible _now_. I am only saying that I wish you had considered all of your options."

"She is a sweet girl," Louisa said thoughtfully. "Her father is a respectable gentleman, I understand."

"He is. The Bennets have been at Longbourn for five or six generations at least."

"The Bennets will not remain at Longbourn beyond this generation," Caroline said. "The estate is entailed upon some clergyman cousin."

"Still," Louisa said. "The daughter of a country squire, though her fortune may be paltry, is a perfectly adequate match. It is the mother's family that concerns me. Connections in trade? Brother, what were you thinking?"

Bingley bit his lip to avoid laughing. "Dare I remind both of you that our father made his fortune in trade?"

Caroline waved her hand. "We are descended from noble families on _both_ sides. The Gardiners are nobodies."

"I understand Mr. Gardiner is a very successful merchant."

"Living somewhere near Cheapside," Louisa said derisively.

"I would not care if she had uncles enough to fill all of Cheapside."

Louisa threw up her hands in disgust and looked at Caroline.

At length, Caroline said, "She is a sweet girl. I will like her well enough as a sister. I presume the rest of her family is equally polite and well bred."

Bingley examined his nails.

"Brother?"

"You will have opportunity to meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet tomorrow," Bingley said, before pleading exhaustion and fleeing the room.

*

The next day saw the arrival of the two eldest Bennet sisters. The ladies got on tolerably well, though Elizabeth had the misfortune of receiving one too many compliments from Edgeworth, which caused Caroline to narrow her eyes. Bingley wanted to say something, but she would be irrational when she had set her cap at a man, and many years of sometimes painful experience had taught him that there was nothing he could do but ride it out. He therefore calmly listened that evening to Elizabeth derided as an impertinent little thing who was far too witty for her own good. He had known that Lizzy's manners had too much of the country in them to be entirely pleasing to his sisters, but Caroline now had a dislike rooted in jealousy, and that boded well for no one.

The following day was the arrival of Lady Bellamy, which precluded any further social engagements until she had been settled at Netherfield. Bingley was somewhat ashamed of himself for being so relieved to postpone the additional introductions between his sisters and the Bennets, but he supposed that any man in his situation would feel the same.

In the early afternoon the carriage was heard in the drive, and Bingley came down to meet Lady Bellamy in the entryway, at Ashbourne's specific request. Miss Audley was also there, but Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, and Caroline, had been asked to refrain from greeting her right away, for she was likely to be exhausted from her travels, and too many introductions might strain her nerves. Everyone knew that it was not Lady Bellamy's nerves, but Ashbourne's which needed protecting, but no one would say such a thing aloud.

Bingley and Miss Audley waited impatiently to be joined by Fitzwilliam and Ashbourne, as the carriage pulled to a stop.

Lady Bellamy was preceded by her trunks. Bingley watched with awe, and rather more sympathy than he once would have had, as the footmen took several heavy looking trunks, bandboxes, and portmanteaus and whisked them upstairs. This procession was followed by Lady Bellamy's abigail, who curtsied politely to all of them, then scurried upstairs after her lady's things.

Bingley cast a concerned look at the stairs; Lady Bellamy's welcoming party was still lacking Lady Bellamy's sons.

The lady herself finally entered, and Bingley hoped that none of his surprise registered on his face when he saw that she was mulatto. Miss Audley stepped forward and introduced herself and Bingley, and fortunately by the time these introductions had taken place, Fitzwilliam was coming down the stairs.

"My dear mother, I beg your forgiveness for making you wait. I trust your journey was as comfortable as possible." He took her hands in his.

"My journey was very comfortable, thank you," Lady Bellamy said. She spoke with slight French accent. "There was some light snow yesterday, but it did not delay us."

"I am glad to hear it," Fitzwilliam said. "It is wonderful to see you."

Lady Bellamy did not respond, and was looking past him toward the stairs. Fitzwilliam took her arm in his and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Bingley saw him whisper something in her ear, which made her sigh, and nod sadly. He conducted them to a small sitting room and, after seating his mother with Miss Audley, he said quietly to Bingley, "Go upstairs and retrieve my brother before I drag him down here by his neck cloth."

Bingley found Ashbourne in his room, sitting so forcibly still that he appeared to be trembling from the effort. Bingley called his name.

"I cannot," was all Ashbourne said.

Bingley drew up a chair. "You cannot go down looking like a Christian martyr about to face the lions, I agree."

That actually drew a tiny smile. "I have not felt like this since I was to be presented at court."

"How did you cope with that?"

"Opium. A great deal of opium."

"Did that work?"

"I recollect nothing from the day, but I am told the king thought I was a pleasant, agreeable sort of young man."

Bingley smiled, but sobered quickly. "I do not think opium is the solution today."

"No," Ashbourne said sadly.

Bingley rubbed his forehead. "May I ask what it is precisely that you are afraid of?"

"She will hate me."

"Oh, indeed. She spent three days in a cold carriage and brought, by the looks of it, at least half of her wardrobe so that she could home here, tell you she hates you, and then...what? Return home? Or spend the next six weeks glaring at you? Which is it?"

Ashbourne had no answer, and stared down at the carpet. It was likely to become more difficult to get Ashbourne into his mother's presence the longer he delayed, so Bingley pressed on, despite the twinge of guilt he felt, for he must surely be causing his friend pain.

"Do you intend to spend the time until your wedding locked up in here? Because I must tell you that, as exceptional as the situation with Miss Audley is, no one is going to let her into your bedchamber before you are married. So you will deny yourself both your mother's company, and that of Miss Audley."

Ashbourne still did not reply.

"Or do you simply intend to send your mother away as soon as she has come without seeing her?"

That, finally, brought a pained noise, but Bingley was suddenly, somewhat surprisingly, too genuinely angry to attend.

"Have you any idea what I would give for five minutes with my mother? You have six weeks and very likely more, and you are prepared to throw that away because of fear?"

Ashbourne looked at him. "I may vomit."

"Then aim away from your mother," Bingley said. He stood and offered Ashbourne his hand. After some hesitation, Ashbourne took it, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

"At this moment, I despise you," Ashbourne said as they went downstairs. Bingley placed his hand on Ashbourne's upper back for support, or to prevent him from running, or perhaps both. He could feel Ashbourne shaking slightly.

"I know," Bingley said with no small amount of empathy, and opened the door to the sitting room.

Lady Bellamy had been in mid-sentence, but she stopped abruptly and came to her feet as Bingley half-guided, half-shoved Ashbourne through the door.

"Andrew?"

Ashbourne looked down at his hands. He had begun to wring them together. "Mama, I--" He looked at her. "I am so very sorry--"

She crossed the room, and pulled him into her arms. Ashbourne's choked sob as he buried his face in her shoulder was the cue for everyone else to quit the room.

Outside, Fitzwilliam leaned against the closed door. He wiped roughly at the corner of his eye. "I am going riding," he announced to no one in particular, and headed off for the stables without another word.

*

"Did you know Lady Bellamy is mulatto?" Bingley asked Caroline. They were in her room, and he had managed to clear a place for himself to sit, despite the contents of her trunks having exploded over everything.

"Everyone knows that," Caroline said. "She is actually half-mulatto, I believe." She picked up a gown and frowned at it.

"I did not know."

Caroline looked at him sideways. "I hope you did not stare."

"Of course not. But I will own myself surprised. Her children have no appearance of it."

"No, her children are only a bit tan," Caroline said. She held up two gowns before him. "Does Mr. Edgeworth have any objection to bold colors on women?"

Bingley could not stop himself from chuckling. "It has never come up."

Caroline pressed her lips into a pensive moue. "Miss Eliza will not be joining us for dinner, will she?"

"She will not."

"Hmm."

Bingley managed to escape when Caroline called in Louisa for a consultation regarding wardrobe. The house was dull and scattered, and there was no good company to be had. The door to the sitting room was still firmly closed, but as he walked past he thought he heard Lady Bellamy laugh. He played piquet for a time with Hurst, losing a guinea and gaining the gossip of town in the process.

He went up to dress an hour before dinner. Frederick had arrived with his sisters, and Bingley, who had nearly forgotten the luxury of having a valet, and having a valet who knew his preferences, was surprised at how quickly and efficiently he was dressed.

He still had some time, so he sat reading the newspaper until a knock at the door roused him.

It was Ashbourne, also dressed for dinner, who stood at the door a trifle nervously before entering. "I no longer despise you."

Bingley, who neither wanted nor thought he was owned any sort of apology, only smiled. "How is your mother?"

"She loves me," Ashbourne said. "I do not know why, but..."

"She is your mother," Bingley said, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. "I do not believe they can help themselves."

"She would not even hear my apology. Every time I tried, she only said, 'There is nothing to forgive.' We talked a great deal. She is happy, she is very happy with Sir Edgar and their children. He is a good man."

He would have to be, to marry his lover. Bingley did not know all of the details, but he must have paid several thousand pounds at least when Lord Buxton sued for seduction, and by marrying her after the divorce, he had taken on a wife who would cost him dearly in connections. Few people wished to place themselves in outright opposition to Lord Buxton.

"They have lived in Wales, all of this time?"

"No, shortly after they married they went to Jamaica. Sir Edgar received a diplomatic posting, and they wished to be away from England. They were there for nearly six years and all of their children were born there, but for Mignon, who was born on the ship, for my mother had miscalculated, and thought they would reach Jamaica before her lying in. There are three others, two boys, Edgar and Ashley, and a girl, Charlotte, who is only thirteen. But they have been in Wales since they returned. My mother has not been to town in eighteen years. Forgive me, I am rambling."

"Entirely understandable," Bingley said. He glanced at his watch. "Shall we go down to dinner? I believe my sister intends to start her offensive on Edgeworth tonight. It should prove amusing, if nothing else."

Caroline's pursuit of Edgeworth was not as amusing as he had hoped. Edgeworth appeared to know what she was about, but whether he was flattered, or annoyed, or even interested, was known to him alone. Bingley turned to Lady Bellamy. She was naturally paying the most attention to her sons, and to Miss Audley, but she was too well-bred to ignore the rest of the table. She was not handsome in the classical sense, but her large, light brown eyes were striking and intelligent, and her conversation was captivating.

The next day he and his sisters dined at Longbourn, and they had opportunity to meet the rest of his future family. The ride home was much as he had feared it would be.

"All five girls, out at once. The youngest two should be with a governess in the school room, not running wild. Jane did say they had had no governess, which I thought was exceptional, but I assumed the mother had undertaken the task of educating them. I hardly imagined that they had been left to act as they would, no manners, no accomplishments, no grace. Honestly, Charles, how can you look at a woman like Miss Audley or Lady Bellamy and then align yourself with that family?"

Bingley, who had been staring hard out of the window, asked calmly, "Would you blush to place Jane in company with Miss Audley or Lady Bellamy?"

"I am not speaking of Jane, Charles. We have all acknowledged that Jane is a sweet girl, but her family! Why did you not simply pick one of the Bennets' maids? I am sure there was a sweet girl among them too."

"Several," Bingley said absently.

"Mrs. Bennet sets a good table," Mr. Hurst said, earning himself a glare from his wife.

"Mrs. Bennet's guests eat very well," Bingley agreed. The same could not be said for her servants, but perhaps his tastes were simply too nice. He had gotten only queer looks on the few occasions that he had commented on the quality of the food at the servants' table. Jeb had said that he ate better at Longbourn than he ever had at home.

"Hurst, is there by chance anyone of your acquaintance in need of a groomsman?"

"Someone is always in need of something."

"If you hear of a position, please tell me."

"Charles, can we please return to the matter at hand?" Louisa said.

"Dear sister, the matter at hand seems to be that you do not approve of the family of my intended. I am very sorry to hear that, but as I have no intention of giving up Jane, I do not see how further discussion will bear any fruit beyond giving me a headache."

They were both aware that when they became "dear sister", their brother's temper was beginning to fray. The matter was dropped, and as they were then pulling into the drive at Netherfield, no topic replaced it.


	19. Chapter 19

Sir Edgar's arrival with two of the four Bellamy children filled the house even further. Sir Edgar was no taller than his wife, but his lack of height was made up for by his girth. He was a solidly built man with broad shoulders and a round belly. Though he was nearly six years his wife's junior, his hair was entirely gray and his face was lined with the marks of time, and time spent under the equatorial sun.

The eldest of the girls was about seventeen, and rather pretty. She had her mother's dark complexion and expressive eyes, as well as a brilliant smile all her own. Bingley thought her quite handsome. Her figure was womanly, though her plain dress and the style of her hair marked her as being not yet out. The younger girl was perhaps thirteen, barely removed from the nursery, and still spent most of her time under the strict watch of a governess.

They flocked to their mother when they saw her. Miss Bellamy and Miss Charlotte greeted Fitzwilliam with sisterly affection, but they were less at ease with Ashbourne. Sir Edgar also had a certain reserve around Ashbourne, though seeing his wife in good spirits appeared to do much for his good opinion of him.

It was a crowded house full of lively, witty and spirited company, with scarcely an hour in the day that was not occupied. Jane came almost every day, and often one or two of her sisters with her. It was Bingley's ideal, and a moment of reflection warned him that it was very likely torture for Ashbourne.

He knocked on the door of Ashbourne's bedchamber before breakfast the next morning. Ashbourne opened the door still in his dressing gown.

"Get dressed, and quickly. We are going shooting today," Bingley said brightly.

Ashbourne's expression was that of a person resigned to some painful but necessary medical procedure. "Are all of the gentlemen going?"

"No, only us."

He brightened. "Only the two of us?"

"Yes, but you must dress quickly. Frederick has prepared a light meal and we, my friend, are departing this house without so much as a by your leave from anyone. Your Miss Audley is my partner in this crime, and has promised to deflect all questions of our whereabouts until we are safely away from the house."

Ashbourne was dressed and ready to go in short order, and they were outside before the morning fog had lifted.

Shooting with Ashbourne involved more talking than shooting, and more silence than talking. Nearly an hour passed with few words until Ashbourne finally said, "I am giving a ball."

"Indeed!"

"It is perhaps more accurate to say that Sophia and my mother are giving a ball, but it will be my cards that are sent."

Bingley smiled. "It is only fitting that one be given. There is the engagement, of course, and Miss Audley has never truly been brought out. This will serve to introduce her to society, and prepare her for some of the scrutiny she will face in town."

Frederick had prepared some rolls and hard cheese and cold meat for them, and as they had gone alone, without even the gamekeeper, Bingley carried the provisions. They rested for a time under a tree and ate.

"I offered to release her from the engagement," Ashbourne said.

"Why?"

"I thought...what you said earlier, about her not having ever been brought out. She has so little knowledge of society, and I thought, now that her uncle is dead, and her cousin does not care who she marries as long as it is not him, I thought perhaps she might decide...she can do far better than me."

"What was her reaction to your suggestion?"

"She threw a pillow at me. She seems to enjoy throwing things."

"As long as they remain soft things without points..."

Ashbourne laughed. "She would not hear of ending the engagement. She would not even hear of postponing it, until she has had a Season or two in town. It seems she truly wants to marry me, even now that she has met me."

"You are surprised?"

"Yes! I had assumed...I told myself that I was preferable to being locked in a room, or being forced to marry her cousin, but even as I planned to elope with her, a part of me felt rather sorry for her. Why on Earth would she want me for a husband?"

"Perhaps she loves you."

"What possible reason could she have for loving me? I am surprised anyone even likes me. Why do you like me?"

Bingley laughed. Had it been anyone else, he would have thought them fishing for compliments, or wallowing in excessive self-pity, but Ashbourne was doing neither. He was not secretly smug, and he was not pathetic, he was simply bewildered.

"Who can say why anyone likes anyone? You are...unique. You are not stupid, you are not dull. You consistently allow yourself to be talked into buying coats in bright colors and then give them to me when you decide to take refuge in your habitual brown. Truly, what is there that is not to like?"

Ashbourne sighed and they tossed the remains of their meal to the dogs before setting out again. The guns and the dogs were likely to get little use today, and Bingley's favorite bitch gave him sad looks, begging to know when she would be allowed to do her duty and retrieve a bird for him.

Bingley tossed a stick for her while they walked.

"Do you want to marry Miss Audley?"

"Of course!" Ashbourne exclaimed. Bingley searched his expression, and Ashbourne, seeing the examination, said, "I do want to marry her. I enjoy being in her company very much. She does not try my nerves as many do. She does not yell."

Bingley raised his eyebrows at that, but as he thought on it, he realized it was true. She made no attempt at hiding her displeasure, when she was displeased, but even her most intensely unhappy tone of voice was not especially loud or shrill, nor did her voice pitch high when she was excited.

Cleopatra came back with the stick in her mouth and dropped it at Bingley's feet, her tail wagging frantically. Ashbourne's dog had run off a short distance and was sniffing the ground.

"My sisters cannot abide Jane's family."

"Yes, I heard Miss Bingley the other evening. And the evening before that. And yesterday morning."

"Caroline is...trying my temper."

"Is that possible?"

Bingley did not answer.

"Some of her concerns are valid."

"The Bennets are not so very bad."

"The mother and the two youngest girls are vulgar. The very youngest is a scandal about to happen."

"Lydia is excessively spirited, I grant you."

"Miss Lydia is wild. You would do well to speak to Mr. Bennet."

"A very pleasant conversation that would be." He frowned and changed the subject. "Did your father respond to your letter?"

"Yes."

Bingley waited, but when no further elaboration came, he pressed, "What did he say?"

"He will not come to my wedding if my mother will be in attendance."

"I see."

They walked a distance more and Ashbourne said, "His actual letter contained a great many words I shall not repeat, but that was the general meaning."

"I hope you are not--"

"I am fine," Ashbourne said. "I am glad that he wrote what he did. It will fortify me for when we meet."

They turned toward home without having fired their guns once. Bingley was sure Cleopatra was giving him looks of outraged disbelief and finally killed a bird simply to appease her, deciding to send it to Matty's family as a present.

"Do you by chance know of anyone in need of a groomsman? It must be someone who pays well enough for a man to raise a family."

As it turned out, Ashbourne did, and Bingley wrote a letter as soon as they returned to the house.

*

He had gone to the library to write, and was coming out letter in hand when he saw Jane standing by the door, waiting while her carriage was prepared.

"Jane! I had not thought you would come today."

"Caroline invited me for tea," Jane said.

He held out his hand to her, but she did not take it, turning away with a blush. He stepped closer and could see she had been crying. "Whatever is the matter?"

She shook her head. "Nothing of consequence, I assure you."

"Have you been crying?"

"I am very silly," Jane said. "Truly, you must not concern yourself with me."

He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "Of course I must concern myself with you; you are the most important person in the world to me."

Her eyes teared up again and she covered her mouth with her gloved hand. "I..."

"The carriage is ready, ma'am."

"I really must go. I promised my mother I would not stay away for very long today."

He kissed her hand. "I will be at Longbourn tomorrow."

She smiled, but seemed eager to go, and he did not detain her.

He found his sisters with Miss Bellamy, looking over fashion plates and examining ribbons.

"I like that one very much," Miss Bellamy said.

"It would look better in another color," Caroline said. "Perhaps blue."

"I rather like the orange."

"Orange is a dreadful color," Caroline said. "I never wear it." She examined Miss Bellamy critically. "With your coloring, I think purple would suit best." She lifted a deep hued purple ribbon and held it next to Miss Bellamy's face.

Miss Bellamy laughed. "I would never be allowed to wear such a color, certainly not in such a style, not before I am out."

"You will be out in little over a year, Miss Bellamy. It is never too early to start planning your wardrobe."

"Miss Bellamy," Bingley interrupted. "I must speak for a moment with my sisters. Privately."

"It was very rude of you to dismiss her like that," Caroline said, after Miss Bellamy had gone.

"What did you do?"

"I beg your pardon," Caroline said.

"What did you do to Jane?"

"What on Earth are you talking of?" Louisa asked.

"She was crying when she left."

Caroline and Louisa looked at each other, and Louisa's brows rose.

"Was she?" Caroline asked with affected nonchalance.

"Yes. I know Jane. She hardly ever cries, so what did you do, or say, to make her cry?"

Caroline put her elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested her chin in her hand. "What makes you think that _I_ am responsible?"

Bingley crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her. "You disapprove of my marriage to Jane. Do you deny it?"

"Certainly not. I think she was a poor, impulsive choice on your part, one that you will regret when you are saddled with four ungrateful, vulgar old maids and a horror of a mother-in-law, or when Miss Lydia or Miss Kitty causes a scandal, whichever comes first."

"Yet she _is_ my choice."

"So she is," Caroline said. "And I have accepted that there is nothing I can do about it."

"So why would you deliberately hurt her?" Bingley demanded, struggling to keep his voice low. The house was full of people and noise did carry.

Louisa said, "Brother, you have this entirely--"

Caroline cut her off. "No, Louisa, I want to hear what he thinks of me. Tell me, Charles, do." She smiled in that infuriatingly smug way she sometimes had. "Please, do not hold back."

Bingley unclenched his jaw. "Do not tempt me. I do not understand why you persist in speaking ill of Jane, why you would hurt her, when you know that I will marry her."

Caroline came to her feet. "One day you will realize that no matter how sweet Jane Bennet is, she is not worth putting up with her family."

Bingley snapped. "You're pathetic, Caroline. How many seasons have you been out? How many years have you been chasing after one or another of my friends while we all laugh at you behind your back? How does it feel to realize that your _little_ brother is getting married while you're practically on the shelf? Someday sooner than you think you're going to be very grateful that my wife is a sweet woman who treats you kindly even though you're just her husband's spinster sister!"

It was harsh, too harsh, and he started to apologize almost as soon as he had said it, but Caroline cut him off.

"When you realize how wrong you have been, I expect there will be groveling," Caroline said, and left the room with her head held high. Louisa gave him a very unkind look before following her out.

He saw Edgeworth standing not far from the door. He must have heard much of what was said. Bingley gave him a rueful smile, but Edgeworth only shook his head in disapproval, whether at Caroline or at Bingley, Bingley could not know.

*

He went early to Longbourn the next morning, as early as he could without being utterly unsociable. He sat with Mr. Bennet for a time, while he waited for Jane to come down. Once or twice Bingley tried to think of some way to bring up the topic of his two youngest daughter's behavior, but ultimately they talked about nothing but politics, and the recent start of another Maroon War.

The day was warm enough to allow a brief trip out of doors, and as Bingley and Jane limited themselves to the garden at Longbourn, there was no need of a formal chaperon. They sat together on a stone bench, the very one, hidden from view, that they had sometimes sought refuge on when the engagement was secret.

She did not appear upset, indeed she looked brighter and happier than she had been the last few times he had seen her, but he still took her hand in his and asked, "Will you not tell me what was troubling you yesterday?"

"Troubling? Oh! I blush to even talk about it, I was so ridiculous."

"You were crying, Jane. I was very worried."

"Were you? Oh, dear, now I am very sorry I did not say anything. It was nothing you needed to be worried about. It was only that yesterday, when I woke, it seemed to strike me all at once, this matter of being married. It seemed so frightening to leave home, knowing I would never return but as a guest. To be separated from everyone..."

"Lizzy will come with us to London, that has already been settled."

"I know, and I knew then that I was being silly, but my mother wanted to talk of nothing but my trousseau and my sisters were giggling at me all morning, and it seemed overwhelming at the time. I suppose I was in a state already, when I went to Netherfield, and then when Caroline--"

"If she did something..."

"She gave me this," Jane gestured to the locket around her neck. Bingley had noticed it, and had thought it looked oddly familiar, but had not been able to place it. She took it from around her neck and opened it, and he saw a miniature of himself, at about five years old.

"This was Caroline's," Bingley said. "My grandmother had them done, one of each of us. Caroline took this one when she went away to school."

"It was so kind of her to give it to me, and I felt so...so ungrateful, to have been thinking in terms of leaving my family when your sisters have been so welcoming to me, and I will have not less, but more. It was all so much that it made me cry. Now you see how silly I am."

Bingley blinked and refastened the locket around her neck. "Not at all." He looked away. "Would you like to go to Meryton today? I find that I must buy my sister something very expensive."

*

"Does this count as groveling?" Bingley asked as he presented Caroline with an assortment of ribbons.

Caroline looked at his offering over the top of her book. "I suppose it is a start."

"I am very sorry, Caroline, but I would not have thought what I did had not your behavior of late been so very rude."

"Have I been rude to Jane?"

"No," Bingley admitted.

"I have been everything kind to Jane."

"You have, I appreciate that."

"No, you do not," she said, closing her book with a snap. "Had I been able to do something to stop you from proposing to Jane Bennet, I would have done it, but it is done and I must live with it. I am neither so unfeeling nor so _stupid_ as to deliberately cause pain to the future Mrs. Bingley, no matter how much I may wish she were no such thing."

Bingley settled on the couch next to her and put his head on her shoulder in a gesture he hadn't used since he was a boy begging her to play with him.

"I love Jane. I know her family leaves something to be desired, but all families do. We will be in London after the wedding, and you will only have to endure Lizzy then."

"Is that supposed to comfort me?"

"Lizzy is not vulgar, even you must admit that."

Caroline would do no such thing, but her face spoke to the fact that she knew it to be the truth.

"I love Jane. She makes me feel...I cannot even tell you how she makes me feel, I do not have the words. Be happy for me?"

She sighed.

He stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. Caroline shoved his head from her shoulder and got up.

"Does that mean you are happy for me?"

"No! It means I think you are a fool."

"Of course I am. I am in love."

Caroline threw up her hands and left, but she restrained herself to only complaining about the Bennets to Louisa from then on, and Bingley was grateful for it.

*

The Netherfield Ball was, of course, the talk of the neighborhood. It was the talk of Netherfield as well. Bingley was always fond of a ball, and was happy to discuss one, which was a very good thing, because at Longbourn Kitty, Lydia, and Mrs. Bennet spoke of nothing else, and at Netherfield, all of the ladies as well as Edgeworth and Fitzwilliam seemed to have lost interest in everything but the preparations.

Fortunately for Ashbourne, Bingley was willing to spend a few hours each night playing billiards or cards while talking of things that had nothing to do with balls.

He received a positive reply to his letter, and wasted no time in presenting the opportunity to Jeb when next he saw him.

"It is called Pemberley, and is in Derbyshire. It is a very fine estate. You would be an under-groom, but you would be paid quite well, and Mr. Darcy is prepared to offer you a small house on the estate at very reasonable terms, and is even willing to give you some consideration on the rent for your first two years, in deference to your caring for Tilly's sister. He says that once Phoebe is eleven, if she wants employment, she will be considered for the scullery."

Jeb shifted uncomfortably. "I _am_ very much obliged to you, sir, I really am, but I ain't really looking to go up north. In any case, last Saturday I walked to Hemel Hempstead, to see my cousin, who owns an inn, and he's prepared to give me work, where I'd be paid every week, and make almost fifty pounds a year. My cousin's old lady, she knows Tilly, from when she was a girl, and she's awful fond of her, and, well, sir, they're willing to help us, while we get set. Tilly's already agreed, and the banns will be read soon enough. But I am very much obliged to you for writing to, uh, to the gentleman in Derbyshire for me. I hope it wasn't too much bother."

Bingley blinked. "No, no bother at all," he said quickly, somewhat put out that he had taken the time to write to a man he hardly knew for nothing, and would have to write to him again to retract the request. He smiled. "I wish you and Tilly the greatest happiness."

"Thank you, sir. Much obliged to you." Jeb bowed to him and returned his attention to the Bennet's carriage while Bingley led Jane inside.


	20. Chapter 20

"My father told me the settlement documents are finished."

"Yes, everything is done," Bingley said. "I was surprised. Such things usually take much longer." He broke off from speaking before he added that the reason the settlement had been drafted so quickly was that Jane had a very small dowry, and was taking no estates or annuities or any other complicated finances into the marriage.

Jane and Bingley were walking through the garden paths at Netherfield. Inside there was a lively party, and outside it was a dull gray afternoon, but they both preferred the garden. Jane's parents had accompanied her, at the invitation of Sir Edgar and Lady Bellamy, and the party was such that they could barely find time to sit beside one another for more than a few moments. When Bingley had seen an opportunity to escape with Jane unheeded, he had seized it.

"We need to set a date," Bingley said. "I was thinking perhaps early in the year. How do you like the fifteenth of January?"

"Very well," Jane said.

"We might go to London before then. I should very much like to meet the Gardiners, and show you your new home."

Jane smiled. Bingley brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face and kissed her forehead. Jane was becoming rather bold of late, for when he started to pull away, she turned her face up and kissed him soundly on the mouth. He could not stop himself from kissing her back, pulling her tightly to him. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless.

Bingley looked around at the empty garden. "Perhaps we should return to the house."

Jane nodded.

He was surprised to see the footmen carrying several trunks upstairs when they entered. The house was not precisely full, but Netherfield was hardly Kentridge; it could only hold so many.

"Bingley!" Fitzwilliam called. "You recall my cousin, Mr. Darcy."

When the greetings and introductions were complete, they joined the rest of the party. Mr. Darcy called over a young lady, dark haired but very fair skinned, and introduced her as his sister, Georgiana. She was shy, and Bingley did not force her to converse for very long before allowing her to return to the corner of the room, where she was quietly watching Miss Bellamy sketch.

"I hope, sir, that my letters were no great inconvenience to you," Bingley said when he and Darcy sat down to talk, after Jane had gone to sit with her mother.

Darcy shook his head. "Not at all. I am glad things worked out for the man."

"I did not think you would be joining us. Ashbourne thought it unlikely you would come."

"If I know my cousin, he came at least in part because my father told him not to," Fitzwilliam said with a smile. He sat down beside his cousin.

"Actually it was Lady Catherine who wrote to me," Darcy said in a measured, even voice. He dropped his voice and added. "She was rather...unkind toward your mother."

"I am well aware of her feelings toward my mother," Fitzwilliam said, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, "though she does not speak of them to my face."

They both looked at Bingley, and changed the subject.

"Miss Audley is...she seems..."

"Miss Audley is soon to be Lady Ashbourne," Fitzwilliam said with resignation. "Also, my brother is quite in love with her." He shrugged.

"They will marry two weeks after the ball, I understand."

"Yes. Lord Dorset has granted his permission, and my brother has applied for a special license."

"A special license!" Mrs. Bennet cried, though she was halfway across the not small room, and they had not been speaking loudly. "Oh, how wonderful. Jane, would it not be grand if you were to be married by special license?"

Mr. Bennet, who had been in conversation with Sir Edgar, said dryly, "Grand indeed, Mrs. Bennet, though perhaps a bit inconvenient for Jane to have to wait to marry until after Mr. Bingley found a way to be granted a peerage. Jane, would you prefer that?"

"Indeed, sir, I would not. I am happy to marry in a church."

Mr. Darcy watched the exchange with raised eyebrows, and Bingley forced down the urge to apologize, or, worse, attempt to distance himself from Mrs. Bennet. Fortunately at that moment, Ashbourne entered with Miss Audley on his arm and kissed her hand before releasing her to sit by his mother, and that drew Mr. Darcy's attention from Bingley's less than ideal future relations.

"Mr. Bingley intends to begin looking for an estate," Fitzwilliam said after Ashbourne had greeted Mr. Darcy.

"Will you purchase, or let?" Mr. Darcy asked him.

"I will let a place at first, but I shall purchase eventually."

"There is an estate perhaps ten miles from Pemberley that will be let soon. The owner has had to retrench. He may be prepared to sell, if you find you like the place, and the terms are good."

Bingley nodded eagerly, and thanked him.

"Your ladyship, have you any other sons?" Mrs. Bennet asked, so loudly and eagerly that the room quieted for a moment, and Bingley nearly winced.

"Yes. They are fifteen and sixteen at present, and away at Eton."

"I see," Mrs. Bennet said, vastly disappointed.

Fitzwilliam smirked. "Or you could simply take Netherfield, after Ashbourne has gone."

Bingley thought it unwise to say anything in the crowded room, but he trusted his expression conveyed the unlikelihood of such a thing happening.

"Oh, Papa!" Miss Bellamy cried suddenly, after a footman came in and said something quietly to her.

Sir Edgar looked up. "Yes, my child?"

Miss Bellamy walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, her face a picture of innocent sweetness that Bingley had seen many times on the faces of his sisters. She wanted something.

"Papa, there is someone I would like you to meet."

Sir Edgar exchanged a look with Lady Bellamy and followed his daughter out of the room with a sigh.

Bingley turned his attention to his small group. Ashbourne was called away to join the conversation with Miss Audley and Jane. Mr. Darcy and Fitzwilliam proved to be good company, and their discussion roamed across various topics, but settled on business and economics. It was not a topic with which Fitzwilliam had great familiarity, but Darcy knew much of such matters. Bingley, who often found himself explaining theories of economics to his associates, enjoyed the opportunity to simply discuss them.

After a time, Bingley left the parlor to retrieve something from his room, and saw Sir Edgar and Miss Bellamy. Matty was with them.

"Please Papa? You said I could have my own abigail when I turned seventeen. Lucy is always with my mother, and attending to her things, and fixing her hair, and she never has time for me."

"You are not yet seventeen."

"Three weeks! Charlotte and I met her when we were out walking and--"

"Yes, you have told me the story. Twice." He looked Matty over. "You know that Wales is a long way away."

"I know, sir."

"Will your father object?"

"No sir."

"Can you read?"

"Not really, sir, but I can recognize a few words, and I could learn a bit more, if I had to."

Sir Edgar sighed. "Very well."

Miss Bellamy clapped her hands and hugged him. "Thank you, Papa! Thank you!"

Sir Edgar held up his hand. "Conditional upon your mother meeting her and approving of her, and conditional upon my receiving a good report of her from the Bennets."

"Yes, of course!" She hugged him again. "Thank you, Papa!"

Sir Edgar put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "Remember this when I am old."

"You are already old," Miss Bellamy said, teasingly. She clapped her hands again and bounced. "Oh, I must go tell Charlotte. She will be so jealous."

Sir Edgar shook his head as he watched her race up the stairs. When he saw Bingley, he said, "Prepare yourself for this, Mr. Bingley. Your children will wrap you around their finger and you will love them all the more for it."

Bingley smiled. "I look forward to it." He glanced at Matty. "And I can...Matty is a very capable young woman. She has cared for all of the Misses Bennet for several years, and does a fine job."

Sir Edgar only nodded, and went to rejoin the party.

"Are you certain this is what you want?" Bingley asked when he was gone. "Wales _is_ very far away."

Matty's lips curved into a secret sort of smile. "It'll be a bit of an adventure, won't it?"

"I suppose so," Bingley said.

"Miss Bellamy seems the nice sort. I'll make better wages, and I'll go with her wherever she goes. I suppose I'll end up caring for both of 'em, whatever Miss Bellamy might think about having me all to herself, but two girls will be easier than five."

Bingley nodded. "Matty, if you ever need anything, are in any sort of trouble, you must only find a way to get word to me."

"Thank you, sir," she said softly. She started to turn away, then turned back abruptly and hugged him.

Bingley was so surprised that by the time he had recovered himself, she had pulled away and was fastening her cloak to go.

"Good day to you, sir."

"Good day, Matty."

*

Bingley stood in the ballroom at Netherfield, watching with some amusement as Ashbourne finally escaped from the duty of greeting his guests, only to realize that he now had to open the ball.

"Poor man," Jane said.

Bingley laughed. "He will survive. He has claimed Miss Audley for every dance."

"Not every dance, surely."

"Perhaps it is better to say that he has claimed her for every dance that he will dance. The opening dance, the dance before supper, the dance before tea... He will sit and stare at the wall whenever she is led onto the floor by someone else."

Jane smiled.

"I think he is relieved that this is the last time he will be expected to dance at a ball. From now on, he will be a married man, and can escape to the card room without being judged."

"You have claimed me for a great many dances," Jane said.

"Only four," Bingley said. "Hardly a great many, considering we have never danced."

"No, we have not," Jane said, with some surprise in her voice.

The couples began to assemble on the dance floor. Bingley turned to Jane.

"Miss Bennet, will you do me the honor of giving me your hand and joining me for this dance?"

"Indeed I will, sir," Jane said, and he led her onto the floor.

end


End file.
